


tokyo boys, miyagi boys, pretty boys

by lovelycherryblondelocks



Series: we are but a smidgen in a sea of canvases [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Break Up, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Fluff, Implied Relationships, Kageyama and Tsukishima friendship, Karasuno Family, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Tsukishima Kei's series of Firsts, Tsukishima-centric, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25713433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelycherryblondelocks/pseuds/lovelycherryblondelocks
Summary: You see, Kei has a plan. The plan is to graduate college, get stable employment, marry and then have kids. That was the initial plan.What Kei did not take into account, was that pretty boys existed, and they could be absolutely, undeniably distracting. With pretty boys involved, it only takes about a millisecond to say 'fuck it, I'm gay' and trundle merrily onto the gayest route possible.Oh well, at least it's rainbow-coloured.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Bokuto Koutarou/Tsukishima Kei, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/ Oikawa Tooru (one-sided), Kageyama Tobio & Tsukishima Kei, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei, Oikawa Tooru/Tsukishima Kei
Series: we are but a smidgen in a sea of canvases [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007607
Comments: 83
Kudos: 283





	1. the firsts that break your heart, and the seconds that mend it

**Author's Note:**

> there may be errors ahead,
> 
> have a good read <3

*

one

  
They say firsts are worth a celebration.

First car? _Good job, buddy._

First pay-check? _Looking forward to a dinner invite!_

First sex? _Ah, the spring of youth._

There are variations to congratulatory greetings, but they remain earnestly, deeply invested in the foregrounds of a seemingly unending growth. Heck, even the sad firsts were victims of this bizarre practice. 

First cry. First fight. First heartbreak.

They are, in a certain way, celebrated too –thought of as a liberation, a chain-break, an ending scene from a coming of age movie. Where the lead learns and takes controls of his life, drives to some big, old city to start anew – that sorta thing.

It’s human nature, as Kei’s mom would whisper during bedtime stories. Humans just want to see the good in everything. They have an innate capability to empathize and feel for the bad and the broken, to cry with them even. Kei supposes the same reason applies to out-of-nowhere entanglements, the one that draws one force to another –merely caused by a stroke of luck, or a desperate plea for mystery and thrill. Just so you could have a happy, albeit arduous, _novel-worthy_ plot to tell your kids one day. Those, Kei thinks, are overdramatic _firsts_.

The thing is, humans just love sprinkling romance into every bit of their lives. Kei thinks they're all conditioned like that. Impassioned. Optimistic. Bouyant. They give too much credit for something as trivial and barely-there thing just because it was a first. Hell, they even shower confetti on bruised knees and impulsive downslope rides –opting to see the brighter side of it. Silver linings and all that jazz. In truth, no sightings of silver linings were ever seen from those dreadful downward slopes. Kei would know, he's checked countless times.

He remembers distinctly, how at that one uneventful, uninspired story-telling night, he snorted and called her mother’s lovesick musings stupid.

 _Always the doubtful._ His mother had said.

 _Always the romantic._ His pouted lips had petulantly mumbled back.

And his mother, the lovely daydreamer that she was, had simply crinkled her eyes and smiled ever so fondly. As if she had been whispering a delicate secret.

_"You tease me now but I tell you – someday you'll feel it too, Kei."_

  
*

  
Kei isn't exactly sure what he was supposed to feel. Sadly, his _firsts_ have not yet caught up to a reasonable quota for a worthy, reasonable celebration. But he tries to jot down the firsts anyway, just to affirm he hasn't missed anything that should have been felt.

The list is pitiful. Not that Kei owes it to anyone to have a longer piece. Kei did warn not to expect too much from bland, uninteresting people.

He thinks of his first sneakers and tries to channel a feeling from the rugged, muddy shoelaces. He comes up with scarce memories, just a few nostalgic snippets of blisters on the shins and colourful plasters on the elbows. 

His first volleyball ball was not much of a progress either. All Kei feels from it is remorse. Accidentally drowning a very important gift did not seem to be worth any kind of celebration. 

His first friend perhaps? Tadashi did prove to be the strongest contender in his list. His competitors may be nowhere near impressive (or human, for that matter), but Kei thinks it's still worth a recognition. This is Kei after all. Snarky, unfriendly Kei. It takes more than a few money and a lot of praises as remuneration for him to even give efforts into making friends. 

Kei ticks off an imaginary box with a satisfied huff. His endeavour was certainly worth a big applause. It's a victory Kei's lips cannot help but grin at, always the first to rebel against his calm, cool facade. 

It's a sight too frightful for poor Tadashi's restless soul. He doesn't say much about it, just a simple, subtle probing that starts with a, "You seem happier today, Tsukki." 

That, he really was. But Kei was not about to give him the satisfaction of a rare, _supposedly_ unprecedented happenstance. Poised and nonchalant, as Kei often wished his face be remembered as.

So with a pitchy tone and hiked up shoulders, Kei settles with a flustered, "Just your imagination."

Tadashi, _sweet, gullible Tadashi_ , falls for his age-old tricks and goes on a merry tangent about the cute stray cat he stumbled upon one lazy morning.

Kei listens all too intently with a clandestine feeling perched atop his reddened nape. He doesn't understand much of why his chest had thumped incessantly, but he supposes the reason was something akin to a _celebration_. Something his mother said he'd feel too.

Finally, Kei's curiosity is once again at rest.

  
*

  
But cryptic lessons, as most would say, are not always understood by a mere, shine of the light bulb above the head. Just as any adage suggests, it bears a timeless weight that would transpire beyond a single moment.

It goes on, Kei puts simply. Some _firsts_ are fun. Some are not. His first _sad-first,_ for instance, was a classic tale of untimely discovery. The _gold 'ol lying and getting caught_. Like intended big revelations, they pile on top of each other, only to stumble forward like dashing waves and drown unsuspecting passersby. Kei happens to be one of those poor, unfortunate passersby. 

Not that it matters anymore. Kei tells himself it was bound to happen anyway. If not in 9th grade, then maybe in 10th or 11th - or, dare he says, college. Some lies were too big to last that long. And those lies were meant to topple off their high ground and trample on some foolish kid's dreams. 

Akiteru was a name who bore such lies. And Kei forever muses of the firsts his brother gave him with a distasteful dryness in his throat.

Kei winces at the memories. The image of his brother smiling forcibly. The scene of a chance encounter from different bleachers. The shade of an open door with no light in sight. The look of his brother's slouched figure on the floor, weeping quietly with not a decibel to choke on - those _firsts_ , Kei knows for sure, will truly last a lifetime.

So Kei surmises, in that fleeting moment of epiphany, that firsts were everlasting. Regardless of the memories that come along with them.  
And the memories of his own firsts burn in his mind, spread hastily like wildfire. 

Mother was wrong. Kei, with that slightest bit of triumph, spends a great amount of time evading _celebrations_. 

He wasn't to blame. Really, who knew victory could ever feel like a loss.

  
*

two

  
His mother did not say much about _seconds_.

It's volleyball who teaches him that instead.

It's the thin, 2.3-meter tall white net who teaches him the principle of second chances. Rarely were they thought of as a good thing - sought after by pathetic cheaters and detached lovers, bearing promises of a 'next time'. Next time, I'll be better. Next time, I won't cheat. Next time, I won't run away.

_Next time, I'll give it my all._

Kei has felt an overwhelming pressure to conform to that preconceived notion of a 'next time'. His whole fifteen years of existence has revolved greatly around that predetermined idea of failed expectations - of a 'next time' gone futile. The likelihood of such a downfall has been unfairly estimated, however. Kei learns to denounce the so-called facts and begins trusting his heart - even just for a little bit, and he starts holding the ball with a tighter grip. 

It happens with a quick beckon to a nearby gymnasium. Swarms of balls led astray, sounds of tired whines sent adrift and the lure of a bright glow above three upperclassmen's peering heads. It happens with a teasing glint sent the younger's way, and it begins with picking up his pace even after sweating buckets. 

One block and he'll be done. One loss and he'll go to sleep.

But Kuroo-san's voice is grating. And Bokuto-san's cheers are jarringly infectious, his words of wisdom even more so.

So it goes on. One block turns to two. One practice turns to two. 

And Kei eventually falls into a habit of _twos_. Suddenly, he's widening his steps, fastening his strides - jumping a little higher, thinking a little quicker, pushing a little harder. He does it all within a span of _twos_.

It's just a club, Kei still murmurs in his sleep. But in between his moping and petulant denials, the space where a small portion of volleyball resides begins to widen. And he finds himself leaning in closer to hear coach Ukai's reminders, he finds himself expecting more late-night practices, relishing the sweet taste of victory when he slams another one of Hinata's superhuman attempts, listening intently to briefly-phrased, politely intoned or sometimes proudly proclaimed advises from overzealous (or, exasperated in Akaashi-san's case) seniors - he finds himself enjoying all of it. 

And through it all, unfolding under the net's gleaming presence, he finds himself just a little bit more.

With a stroke of luck (perhaps an unlikely happenstance) no stranger than a fate's call, Kei finds something, _someone_ , beyond its thresholds too.

  
*

**Kei is for Tetsurou, Tetsurou is for Kei**

  
Kuroo-san is a sight to behold.

Dark eyes. Dishevelled hair. Golden skin and pointed nose. Lean built and broad chest.

Any woman would grovel at his feet. Any man would too.

Kuro-san has put a spell on Kei.

He burns Kei with his fleeting touches. He lures him in with charming mischief and timely jests. He stuns him with a smooth, near-perfect tilt of the chin, followed by a seamless, _"one more block, glasses."_

And Kei would act stubborn with adamant disinterest. But he would eventually cave in. Like a moth to a flame. A stranded man to a siren's call. Or, a _Kei_ to a _Kuroo_.

It's unavoidable. Kei has a predilection for gaudy, blazing mysteries - and everything about Kuroo-san burns with an enigmatic flair. His gaze. His lax grin. His unparalleled demeanour. His snark. His voice. His - _dear god_ , everything. It doesn't take Kei a second to admit he would willingly drown in the older's flames. He's _that_ smitten. He's young and inquisitive and still at the cusp of something very, _very_ new. Kei thinks that novel feeling is a perilous, inscrutable path to take. Not quite a downslope, he corrects, but something riskier.

You see, Kei has a plan. The plan is to graduate college, get stable employment, marry and then have kids. That was the initial plan. What Kei did not take into account, was that pretty boys existed, and they could be absolutely, undeniably distracting. With pretty boys involved, it only takes about a millisecond to say _'fuck it, I'm gay'_ and trundle merrily onto the gayest route possible. 

_Oh well, at least it's rainbow-coloured._

"One more block, glasses." The said colours tempt. It's deep and husky, let out with much inflection. 

And Kei, the curious _Dorothy_ that he is, treads on blissfully.

"You've said that already for the 56th time." He comments a farce show of resistance, his lacklustre act on point.

But Kuroo-san only cackles breathlessly back at him and bares his comeliest smile. "You kept count? Your glasses live up to its reputation, I see."

"Assuming all glasses-wearing folks to be nerdy and obsessed with numbers? _How_ _superficial_ , Kuroo-san." 

By then, Kuroo-san would snort after the third exchange. Somewhere in the background, Bokuto-san would hoot in approval. Akaashi-san, perhaps, would sigh wordlessly in amusement. Like two beats turned into one, they fall into a rhythm. Good-natured, petty banters thrown on the same side of the net, on different ones and beyond - a lovesick musing for a hopeless, 15-year-old daydreaming fool. 

_Oh Kei, you never learn._

The warning speaks with his mother's voice. But Kei is neither wise nor wary enough to heed to its reminders. 

  
*

  
Something new is happening to Kei. It's Hinata who notices it first. And he does not hold back on spouting carelessly about it right in front of Kei and his many, many curious companies. There's a greater danger in that realisation. Because if Hinata, _dear clueless Hinata_ , is all too aware of Kei's change - then Kei is sure to be in grave trouble. 

"Oi! You're not planning on giving our strategies to Nekoma's captain, are you? Just because you're s-smooching each other doesn't mean you're free to do as you please, okay!"

The announcement echoes around them. But it resonates louder in Kei's pounding chest. He doesn't even bother to retort back anything. Nothing. Not even a slight stammer to fill in the awkward silence around their supposed circle ( if standing behind his teammates could ever be considered as one).

It's a predicament too infrequent to believe. Kei's chances of getting into troubles are sparse. Kei's patience and effort to resolve said troubles - even sparser. But this, with Kuroo-san just a few feet away from hearing all of Hinata's sparkly chatter about youth and love - is worth the damage control of a lifetime. Kei cannot be blamed for being frantic about it. No one is entitled to such an open view of his flustered, foolish pining. So he does what he does best and threatens Hinata with the raise of a chin and an unvoiced promise of murder.

Thankfully, Hinata is quick to comply with his wishes. Not so thankfully, the rest of his team is not. Very not so thankfully, they chose a campfire party to torment his old, wearied soul. 

Kei's night is a good time to bury a body. The red-faced coaches are too drunk and unaware of any chances of murder anyway. With Hinata's manageable height and weight, a good four feet grave should do. But a quick call from his least expected (although most anticipated) company immediately sets all those thoughts adrift. 

His stomach churns instead, distracted by the sight of Kuroo-san's small grin. For a short moment, Kei curses his existence for being able to stand out from the glow of flickering lights - as if he were brighter than the bonfire. With the boisterous cheers and out of tune singing around them - Kei should not have been able to hear his voice. Should not have even answered them. And yet here he is, rendered speechless at the image of a man leaning dangerously close to a tree trunk barely half his size.

"Hooo, someone stopping you in your tracks Tuskishima?" Something looms intrusively from behind him. Kei instantly recognizes the jeering tone as Tanaka-san's.

Kei spins and gives them a fraction of his attention. "Must you bother me every chance you get? Getting old for that now, Tanaka- _senpai_."

The bite is not enough to lure the older into a string of profanities. But it does put a little strain in Tanaka-san's smile. "Oh me? I don't think _we'll_ ever get tired of this."

As if to disprove God's miracles, Nishinoya joins in on the fun. "Certainly, we cannot let our young Tsukishima go alone without some proper directives. You know what they say, one should never jump into a relationship without guidance. Luckily, you have _us_ to do the job." The shorter male had the audacity to clear his throat and puff out his chest as if it would put any addition to his build.

Kei, with all the patience he can muster, beams at them with the darkest look he's ever given anyone. "I think I can handle myself just fine, _senpais_." He leaves them with an eager pace. And in his haste, blindly follows a trail leading up to Kuroo-san's empty, comfy log.

The gawking spectators did not fail to send deliberate smiles as Kei crouches besides Kuroo-san's shadow. And they grow even more annoying as Kei keeps his gaze elsewhere but Kuroo-san's atrocious hair, or flexing biceps, or thighs - at the back of his mind, he hears his torturers giggle, and it makes Kei wonder if he should have chosen another school instead.

"You okay, Tsukki?" The _devil_ tempts with a boyish grin. Its sharp gaze surveys him with a knowing fervour. Kei knows better than to amuse the sinful invitation. But he acts otherwise and falls for the devil's tricks anyway.

"Fine and dandy, Kuroo-san." He answers, loud enough to drown the kissy sounds Tanaka-san and Nishinoya-san keep sending toward their direction. Calm and collected. Seemingly unaffected.

From the background, he hears Hinata's muffled cries of "Tuskishima's conspiring with the enemy!", followed by the shushing words of tactful, blessed third-year seniors. And Kei, for that brief instance of relief, thanked the heavens that the King was dense enough to let all the unwanted noise pass through his volleyball-filled mind.

Kuroo-san too, did not seem to mind the cawing sounds, casually passing him a cup with not an ounce of question in his face. " _Right_ , just remember to _keep that straight in check_ when you're blocking. I wanna have a good match when we meet you at the nationals." 

Kei chokes on his drink. His meddlesome teammates snicker not so subtly from behind. 

_"I'll be sure to lead it to a good path."_ Kei wants to answer out of spite. He opts instead with a less obvious retort and suffers a moment of uncertainty, " _If_ we make it to the nationals, that is."

A soft nudge moves his shoulder. Kei glances without thought and finds Kuroo-san's eyes fixated heavily on him. "You can and you will. No use wasting this fine mentor of yours, _ya know_?"

Kei quickly snaps his head back to the bonfire and replies flatly, "How inspiring, Kuroo-san. I'm suddenly motivated." 

The older laughs, his pearly fangs in clear view. Some guitar starts playing from the background and it only takes Kei a second to light up in elation as he hears a familiar melody augment throughout the open space.

It's a guy from Fukurodani, Kei observes. His voice is far from the song's distinguishable croak, but it still carries a tune of its own so reminiscent of the singer.

Kuroo-san shifts beside him, just as pleased. "Never thought I'd hear that song play again."

"You listen to them too?" Kei asks. He tries to keep his excitement at bay but fails to cover the twinkle in his eyes.

The captain blinks at him. He tilts his head a little and bops to the beat of a makeshift beatbox, "I dance to them too."

And for a moment Kei thinks their conversation would simply end there. So he's more than surprised when he feels a hand hover above his head. The blonde cranes his neck and sees Kuroo-san standing confidently on his two, long legs. 

Moonlight casts a shadow on his lean figure, but Kei can still make up the anticipation etched on the corners of his lips. "What do you say Tsukki, how about a first dance under the pale of moonlight?"

Kei gulps at the offer and almost hollers at the spontaneity of it. _First_. He almost scrambles at the mention of that word. Feeling sure, Kei prepares to spout back another snarky jest. But in truth, all he manages to offer in response is a barely contained squawk. 

The change is dangerous. It's daunting, baffling, riveting - and it's making Kei feel woozy all over.

Kei knows he should swat the hand away and shoo the butterflies in his stomach with a brisk and direct, _no thanks_. But the change is nagging him to be honest. _To be willing._

"The night's too young to chicken out on a first." The _devil_ urges.

Just a week ago Kei had prided himself so much of that so-called self-control. Never would he strip that honour away for a simple touch. But of course, Kei just has to cave in like a guileless child. Of course, Kei would be willing. Now he stands, fingers laced with a boy he barely knows - dancing the night away, dragged and spun - as if he hasn't got a murder to plan come morrow morning. 

_Fuck it_ , he'll blame it on the weird-looking drink he had earlier. For now, all that matters is Kuroo-san and Kuroo-san's hold around his wrists.

They're dancing with a couple of other boys. Guards down for the night with no care for tomorrow but passing balls and winning matches. Their blissful ignorance is infectious and they pull Kei closer and closer to the center, glazed with the touch of tan skin and beaming moonlight.

Just once. Kei convinces himself. One dance. One small smile. One _Kuroo-san_ \- and he'll be done and away with the change.

  
*

  
Once was a lie. And the change never goes away. It stays, sealed and secured between locked hands and flushed skins. It burns constantly, in closed lids, pursed lips, bruised knuckles and craned necks. And it grows, spreading in haywire with nothing to trek but bare thighs, knees, chests - Kei's veins pumping more blood than they should under the fervent gaze of a predatory glare.

All of it began with a casual stroll to a rumbling bus. A cheeky pick-up line to pick up a certain blonde's number, just as dumbstruck and uneasy. It began with an uncharacteristic shyness to follow up mumbled confessions of _'take cares'_ and _'i'll wait for your messages'_. With a Kuroo-san showing up to practice and official matches, a pastel box in hand. A surprise, a gift - any reason to see Kei. Sometimes it's a strawberry cake, sometimes it's a new sweatshirt with a moon, french fry, or dinosaur quip on the front - sometimes it's a ticket to the next horror movie, or a book of badly-written poems. 

Rarely are the tickets for an amusement park. Because those appear much, much later on - when Kuroo-san has finally uttered the damned three words in a chilly, midnight call, probably crouching in some lonesome street with a mugger close by. It comes much, much later on, when Kei has long forgotten to cover his breathy giggles and replies the words with an added 'too'. 

Later, those tickets appear with scribbled notes of _'i like yous'_ and _'i miss yous'_. Later, those tickets appear with choppy phone calls and freezing frames of Kuroo-san's bedhead. Later those tickets appear with a chaste kiss on the cheek, a chaste caress on the wrists, a chaste _'can i's'_ and _'may i's'_ voiced through shy glances. 

Later those tickets mumble _Tetsurou, Tetsurou, Tetsurou_.

The first time it happens is in a Ferris wheel. A sweet, long kiss under the moonlight, where Tetsurou calls him a name Kei has never been called.

  
"How's that for a first date, moonshine?"

 _Moonshine_. It's breathed out with a wispy sigh. And every time Kuroo-san utters that word, Kei counts the _second_ that follows each _first_.

  
* 

  
But a quick pull is a quick fall. 

Two years is not quick.

Two years is a long, _long_ pull.

The fall to it is nothing short of an offence.

Almost like burning a wound that's already there. Because that's how Tetsurou is. He _burns_. 

Kei wallows in his flames anyway. They don't hurt. Never did. They crowd around him like an embrace from the tumult of restless worries. They twine around his limbs like a shield from the havoc of infrequent calls, of unanswered messages and absent touches. Kei stands still at the centre of its blazing warmth because he believes Tetsurou. He trusts Tetsurou.

But trust is not enough. Or at least, one built at different times, from different places. And as much as Kei tries to convince himself otherwise, the gnawing suspicion of an _end_ never leaves.

"We can make it work." Tetsurou always says. He never fails to remind him again and again.

"You're a thousand miles away." Kei always answers. He never fails to doubt the chances again and again. Because Tokyo is bearable. California is not.

The reassurances Tetsurou whispers to him is always gentle. Always sure.

"I can send you messages every night."

"I can call you every Saturday."

"I can visit on the holidays."

"But that -" 

"Wouldn't be enough?" Tetsurou would guess. And sometimes they're laced with a hint of frustration, of restrained exasperation - a hint of giving up. _He tries_. Kei knows he does. Kei knows he's being difficult too. Kei knows he _wants_ and _wants_ too much for something that is simply not enough.

"So what do you want Kei?" And Tetsurou knows him well enough to voice it out for him.

But then Kei would suddenly feel unsure. He would turn insecure and his head would hum a mocking _'he'll grow tired of you if you tell him'_. 

"I don't know. I just know that I -" 

_I miss you. I want you to come back. I want to hold you and kiss you. I want you to hold me and kiss me. I want you around. With me. Anytime and anywhere._ Kei tries his best to say it all with as much intensity as he can muster. With as much pause as he can take because crying will not solve anything. 

Tearing up during arguments will not resolve the cracks they cannot cover. Snapping at his phone during tired nights and mellow days will not take back the ugly words. Crouching under the blanket and choking on his jealousy will not erase the hurt in Tetsurou's eyes or the throbbing uncertainty in his own lungs. 

"Hey, Kei. Look at me."

Kei does. After every talk. After every fight.

"It'll be fine, moonshine. We'll make it work."

And just like that, Kei starts believing again. They'll be fine. _They'll be fine_. He utters it like a mantra. Then Kei will start dreaming anew. About Tetsurou. About himself. About both of them.

And in those dreams, Tetsurou keeps promising him things. In those dreams, Tetsurou is older and comelier, with a suit and a crinkled tie Kei will grouse about and smoothen lovingly for him. Maybe there's a house around. With two dogs and one cat because - _fuck it_ \- Kei is a romantic and he so badly revels in the possibilities. In those dreams, Tetsurou keeps teaching him and dragging him to every _second_ of every _first_. 

Because that's what Tetsurou does. He teaches him the _continuity_ of firsts. He teaches him that one block means two, that one dance means twenty-five, that one kiss means eight hundred and twenty-one -

But then in some of those dreams, there is a _discontinuity_. In some of those dreams, Tetsurou is still far from Kei's grasps. In some of those dreams, Tetsurou is there and Kei is here. Always apart. Never together.

Again the cycle repeats. Again, Kei keeps thinking and thinking and Tetsurou keeps trying and trying. But they don't stop.

"Maybe we should."

\- is a phrase Kei never thought he would hear be uttered so surely. Without hesitance. Without fear.

Kei tries to lie to himself anyway, tries so, so hard to think he's misheard the man. "What do you mean?" 

But Tetsurou is frank. He is kind and patient and -

"We should stop."

 _Tired_. Tetsurou is tired.

Kei stares at him with a pressure pressed against his lungs. He inhales his tears with a near stutter and almost screams _"You can't just say that. You can't just give up -"_

But Kei thinks wisely and realises Tetsurou can. And Tetsurou will.

"I-is this about last week? Did I go too far? I promise it won't happen again. I trust you. Really, I do. The things I said before...I-t was just the heat of the moment, I was jealous and I...I..." _I just miss you. So, so much._ But Kei berates himself into pausing. Because Kei is strong and he is not about to falter now.

"Hey, Kei. Look at me."

There it is. The comfort. The promise. _They'll be fine. They'll be fine. They'll be fine -_

"We can't keep going like _this_."

"Like what?" 

"We can't keep wasting our time." Tetsurou replies croakily. And Kei hates that it's him who has drawn tired lines over Tetsurou's face. Kei hates that it's him who has put a heavy weight on Tetsurou's slumped shoulders.

Kei hates that he still wants Tetsurou to lie and tell him it's okay.

"You're not wasting mine." He says as a last a resort. Almost like a plea. His knees wobble. His chest heaves. No. _They'll be fine. They'll be fine. They'll be fine -_

"Kei you're young. You're smart, you're beautiful and _god_ , you're perfect. You have so many great things going on for you right now but - _fuck_ \- Kei, I feel like I'm leading you nowhere. I feel like I'm dragging you somewhere you weren't supposed to be." 

Kei thinks there's a simpler reason. "Are you tired of me?"

"No. Kei - no, _god_ no." Tetsurou takes up as much of the silence as he can and delivers one last, "I love you. So much."

Kei has the audacity to ask, "Then why?" 

"I'm just -" 

Done? Sick of this? Sick of you? Sick of us? 

Whatever the answer is, it's all in Tetsurou's eyes. But Kei is too frightened to look at them. Kei is scared to be right.

He hears Tetsurou sigh heavily then. His breath never staggers like Kei's hitching shoulders. His tone never wavers like Kei's pained gasps.

_"Take care of yourself, moonshine."_

That night, the cycle stops. And with it, the phone call ends. His phone blinks at him in a near baffled look. But Kei thinks its dying flickers are better than the moonlight's mocking presence.

  
*

  
Kei does not weep.

He keeps the tears in his lungs and drowns in them.

The tears stay until practice. Until Tadashi has given up on pestering him about his baggy eyes. Until Hinata's noise has deafened the restless throbbing in his head - until the King's words poke him back to reality with a grumbled,

"Are you okay?"

-And _oh_ , Kei is crying. The weather is too. And they leave Kei drenched inside and out.

"What do you want, King?" Kei still manages to act nonchalant despite the crack in his voice.

Even in their albeit never-voiced friendship, Kageyama still bristles at the name. But he never makes a move to pull his collar or tower over him. He acts wordlessly instead, standing awkwardly beside Kei's crouched body.

It's seconds later, as Kei notices the puddle he's hunched over finally calms, that he feels something akin to fondness travel through his veins. He dares a peek above him and sees the shadow of an umbrella hover close to his shoulders. It's tipped over at the edge and coloured with a sentiment of warm intentions.

Kageyama peers down at him then, lips pulled into a frown and ready to feel affronted. "What?" 

And Kei laughs. He laughs and laughs until he chokes on his hiccups. "You're not even holding it right, _stupid_."

Kageyama scowls and bellows an indignant squawk, but the umbrella never leaves.

  
*


	2. the thirds that make you count, and the pauses in between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there may be errors ahead. i hope you'll have a good read :>  
> <3

*

three.

Kei celebrates Kuroo with a long ride to Tokyo and three stuffed cases of bitter memories at the back of his beat-up car - barely legal for a can of beer but still past the age of significant exemptions.

"You'll crash the car." 

Said exemptions include imprisonment for the murder of fellow 19-year-old screw-ups. 

"Losers who can't drive do not have the right to complain."

"Not when they're fighting for their lives."

Another complaint and Kei might just consider a new life in prison.

_Keep it together, keep it together._

It's not as if Kei had not expected any hurdles along the way. He is meticulous. He plans things and sees them through. Really, his glasses weren't simply for accessory. Kei has a mental checklist for anything and everything. It just so happens that most of them are riddled with pros and cons that mostly consisted of peculiarities like Hinata Shouyo and Kageyama Tobio.

Years ago, Kei would have cackled at the mere proposition of their existence in his life. _That_ , Kei wishes, was a plan he greatly regrets not pursuing. But then again, with a loaded roommate like Kageyama (who, by extension, would surely have a wealthier future than Kei's mediocre degree) – any prior plans were worth dumping to the deepest depths of hell.

Kei wants to start anew.

Kei _is_ starting anew.

He'd be damned to let such good chances go to waste simply because of silly reservations. Besides, Kageyama proved to be a tolerable company - enough to share a drink with on listless Saturdays. And Hinata, although perpetually and annoyingly zestful, was just as enjoyable (and could be just as moneyed in the near future) on stagnant days.

Some days, however, the two of them were _absolutely_ insufferable.

"Watch out!" Hinata shrieks with an adamant drawl, his screech rivalling the incessant buzz of the traffic.

Some old driver passes by their car with a well-gestured ' _fuck you'_ right as Kageyama speedily rolls up their squeaking window. Kei retaliates with as much snark and lets his horn blare out its own string of profanities.

"Stop picking a fight with every driver you see! We can't afford a bail."

Kageyama, the unhelpful goblin, flatly interjects, "I can. But I refuse to spend my money on you lots."

– to which Hinata angrily protests at. Kei finds the squeaking fits of anger understandable. Kageyama's words had been unreasonably selfish.

And despite feeling betrayed, Kei decides to be indifferent about it. He grumpily averts his gaze from the ruckus and chides them through his gritted teeth. "I know what I'm doing, so _zip_ it."

"You're not even looking at the road!"

"Keep talking and you'll be walking the rest of the mile, shrimp."

" _Stingyshima_!"

They round another corner with a sharper turn, the screech of tires pulling up to a quick halt and successfully silencing Hinata's woes. There's a mutable pause as Kei casts a cursory glance at his passengers, unnerved by their stillness. The sight he is met with is nothing short of perfection.

Hinata is gripping tightly on his seatbelt, masking his worried whimpers through pursed lips. It's evident that Kageyama feels just as stunned, if the quaking knees and shaken murmurs were anything to go by.

 _Okay_. Maybe Kei's being the insufferable one at the moment. But he can't help it. He feels apprehensive. The air he breathes is too foreign. The road he pointedly stares at looks frighteningly expansive. And the skyscrapers appears every bit horrifying, with their lofty shadows and boundless sizes.

There's just something amiss in the _newness that_ Kei is obliged to desire.

He _should_ be mesmerised by its vastness – by the endless possibilities the traffic offers him to think about. Sure, it's certainly a road too big to trek. A city unchallenged by size and population simply meant more pathways to take; a fancy part-time job near the intersection, a spacious campus on the left corner, a public library on the right, and his new home just straight ahead – but he has long prepared himself for this. He has long been _'up for it'._

In truth, Kei isn't anywhere near ready.

Something this expected should not warrant such an unease. But they do anyway.

And Kei is neither rational nor mature enough to be able to vent out his frustrations in a healthy way.

So of course, the only way around it is to displace his emotions on the jaded leather covers of his steering wheel. And _double_ of course, he wouldn't pass by the chance to be as unbearable about it as Hinata's sweaty duffle bags.

 _Oh well_ , emotions are a bitch and so is Kei.

He stomps his foot with that inexcusable rationalization and carries on mindlessly to give Hinata the heart attack of a lifetime.

The suffering lasts until dusk. And it only takes them a quick, albeit life-changing three minutes before Kei finally pulls up to a modest parking lot and ends their grievances with the swift turn of jingling keys – Hinata, with barely a soul to latch on and Kageyama, with nothing to mumble but his death will.

About five minutes in, they have fully given up on a chaste move - morosely dragging boxes after boxes of stacked books and utensils that cannot seem to emit any jingle other than pure, _utter_ agony. Kei must have committed grave sins in his past lives, as even their room is plagued with the same hellish curse.

Five-floors-up is nothing short of a predicament. Kei calculates it would take them more than an hour to finish the transfer with the dingy elevator under construction and several flights of rickety stairs still uncovered.

Kei admits his prayers have been infrequent, but surely God was more forgiving than _this_.

"I should have gone straight to my dorm."  
  
Kei should have gone to Hinata's and dumped all the workload on Kageyama's shoulders too. It's a good exercise for the muscles, he reasons. Fit for volleyball addicts. Though, if Hinata was just as willing to decline the chance, Kei supposes Kageyama would not be as amiable about his plan.  
  
His predictions happen almost immediately, as a deep, indignant growl ruefully ignores his unvoiced suggestion.

"Absolutely not. You promised to help."  
  
_Forced_. Kei reads Hinata's mind. He's beyond grateful Hinata had chosen not to be forthright about it. Although, his compliant silence might have something to do with Kageyama's ominous stare.  
  
"You guys are too mean. I wish Yamaguchi were here. " The shortest of them sniffled ever so pitifully. His grasp is loose on the bag's handle, and his face is carved with a hangdog expression. _Oh, what an actor._  
  
Kei glances at him and sends a nod of gratitude. He mulls over Hinata's words with a slight twinge in his chest. Because, in all honesty, Kei wishes it too. _Badly_.  
  
But the thing about starting anew is that you have to leave something behind. A toy, a bag, an old set of DVDs, your favourite blanket, favourite hoodie. And it's not because you've willingly grown tired of them –they're special to you and they mean more than their tangible value suggests – but because you've _grown_ out of them.

Kei has more than willingly let go of Kuroo and his summer kisses. But the hushed talks with Tadashi under the gleam of starry skylines still weaves around him like a vengeful phantom.  
  
Tadashi was a friend that simply meant home.  
  
And home, as most grown-ups would tell you, stays as _is_.  
  
They have become too much of a comfort to be taken on to newer journeys. They have become too much of a chain to drag on to longer ventures.  
  
Tadashi _had_ to stay.

Because leaving home is just as inevitable as growing up.

And if Kei wants a new trail to follow, he'd have to go on without him.  
  
Kei isn't too spiteful about it. Tadashi had pretty much made a life of his own in Miyagi; a steady relationship with the sweetest girl he's ever met (although his list of known girls fall very short, but _still_ ), a heavily recognised university with promising chances and a set of new companions – Kei wouldn't dare disturb that.

As the old proverb preaches, change was a bittersweet thing. It gives you hope for a _now_ that is yet to be _unravelled_ , but it keeps you pining for a _t_ _hen_ that has yet to _dissipate_.  
  
Kei supposes Kuroo is not an exemption to that.  
  
Kuroo is a _was_ that change didn't want to pine for. Kuroo is _the_ was _change needed to leave behind.  
  
So Kei mustn't falter. Kei must persist. Surely, Tadashi had wanted that for him. Perhaps, despite the lingering bitterness he had aligned Kuroo with, he must have wanted the same.  
  
It appears his unopened boxes were more than apparent on their insistence that his new neighbour felt just as inclined to feel it too. Not that Kei would ever want Kageyama's approval for anything. But Kei is thankful for the sentiment, nonetheless._

__

"It's _still_ progress." Hinata cuts through his thoughts with a gleeful skip. Kei thinks the volume is more than enough to impair his hearing. "Bakageyama and Stingyshima? To think the day would come where I'd help the two of you move in together."

__

“Romantic, isn't it?" Kei adds with a spiritless cheer.  
  
Kageyama snorts from behind. His knees creak as he bends over a pile of dented packages. "Didn't think that day would actually come either."  
  
Albeit unsaid, Kei wonders about the oddity too. How he had bravely taken up on the impulse to room with Kageyama, driving a secondhand car with no plan in mind but to survive college and uncover a new meaning to his life beyond volleyball and failed relationships –Kei isn't really sure. He's young and bold but he isn’t a sage. A few good decisions here and there didn't really mean he is mature enough to stop counting on his luck.  
  
Kei is meticulous. He plans things ahead and sees it through. But he does not have an adept premonition to everything. If he does, Kuroo wouldn't even have such a significant presence in his life. And neither would Kageyama nor Hinata.  
  
Because that would be cheating. An intriguing prospect for sure, but cheating nonetheless. No one wants the easy way out. No matter how much they gripe about unbearable roommates whose snore can intrude your own dreamland, or tiring visitors whose presence announces itself in an earsplitting manner –  
  
In reality, most people valued a hard work done right. They relish the struggles that are dealt with correctly and properly. Really, who would dare boast about singlehandedly winning a videogame using only cheat codes? Not a man with integrity like Kei for sure.  
  
"Your loss." Kageyama tells him grumpily that evening, after a dinner gone wrong courtesy of Hinata's shitty cooking.  
  
Kei takes a long, thoughtful look at the other and haughtily presses on the controller in his hands. The sparkling rainbow car screeches and bumps against Kageyama's avatar. It sings a victorious song and dances along with the beat of Kageyama's peevish mumbles.  
  
"Cheat codes are for losers." He preaches to the male. Flat and unimportant like the results on Kageyama's scoreboard.  
  
"Man, you suck at this." Hinata peers from behind the small kitchen, gloves around both hands and hissing foam stuck to his bunched forehead.  
  
"Tell me that again when you're done with the dishes, dumbass."  
  
Hinata scrunches his nose at the insult. "Ungrateful bastards." He mutters, pout in plain view.  
  
Kei dares a peek at Kageyama before he counts. One second for a low growl. Two seconds for furrowed brows. And three seconds, for chaos to ensue.

__

And thus begins another deafening banter.  
  
_Ah_ , he could get used to this.  
  
And if not, Kei could get used to living with fellow inmates too.  
  
  


__

*  
  
  


__

It takes Kei about a week to finally register the path he's chosen. And he doesn't waste time to jot them down on a series of unchecked boxes.  
  
On the sixth day, he begins reviewing each box with a red tint in hand.  
  
Box one: moving to a big city to find some sense in your life beyond Kuroo and taxing practice matches – or what Kei calls, starting anew.  
  
Box two: finding personal growth from a bottle of cheap wine and pizza boxes while contemplating over your past choices– while also pondering about an age-old question about what you think of yourself and who you are as a person– or what Kei calls, deep introspection  
  
Box Three: having enough confusion in your life to cry about on scheduled times, calling it your own version of catharsis, and taking your time to realise you've run out of boxes to fill because suddenly it hits you –  
  
The three boxes hit you with an unsettling realisation that you're listing a recipe for disaster – one humongous, unavoidable disaster.  
  
" _Oh my god_ , my life is a coming of age movie."  
  
He announces it to no one, one sudden night – a week after adapting to Kageyama's early morning exercises and Hinata's untimely visits at their doorsteps, where their usual routine consists mainly of hiding in the inmost recesses of lecture halls and cowering under the covers of Kageyama's knitted blanket.  
  
It's a routine that drags both of them into a hole, wallowing gloomily in their uncertainties and insecurities for the present. Not enough time for freshman parties but infinite time for stalling homework.  
  
The couch they sit on is cramped and petulant. It whines under Hinata's usual weight but groans louder with Kei's and Kageyama's combined.  
  
Typically, a movie about romance will play in the background. The over-saturated screen would cause them to furrow their eyebrows in exasperation as they grouse about how trivialized college realities are portrayed, focusing entirely on the exaggerated notions of romance. They never change the genre though, something Hinata would poke fun at when he's not too busy weeping about his sore muscles and double zeroes on crumpled quiz papers.  
  
Kageyama isn't faring any better, but he's managing himself well enough that he can bite back at Hinata's insults with boastful jeers of his own. It won't be enough to dampen the scent of shame from Kei's triumphant smirk or Kageyama's dark glower, but it's enough to silence Hinata into cramming his lessons while the both of them return to throwing popcorns at the main character for his horrid acting skills.  
  
Still, Kei gives the character the benefit of the doubt and acknowledges his existence well enough to admit that he’s making better choices than Kei and Kageyama.  
  
Two girls pining for you and a _not-so-straight_ best friend to bait mindless fishes into boosting up the views – oh, what a thrilling recipe for a gaudy life.  
  
Come morrow morning they will regret wasting their nights on sizzling sodas and laughable bed scenes, the both of them mulling over their misspent youth.  
  
So perhaps, Kei's life is a coming of age movie.  
  
Specifically, the stagnant, uninteresting rising action of the movie. With neither rising, action nor any climax to transition to.  
  
Because apparently, Kei is still a misguided soul with little to live for and Kageyama is surprisingly a masochist who takes pleasure in doing nothing about his needless pining for a certain redhead. And also because, screw the boxes.

__

"Stop stopping in the middle of your sentences, you weirdo." Kageyama interrupts from his side. And Kei almost forgets the whole reason for going off on a tangent.

__

"Fine, amuse me for a while ballhead." Hinata lets out a muffled chortle from the low table below. Kei continues with the ugly sound in mind and addresses the both of them, "What if my _starting anew_ is just a set-up for one?"  
  
"Just because you couldn't answer your professor's question in that one psychology class, doesn't mean you're suddenly the protagonist of some beloved coming of age film."  
  
Kei scowls at that and prepares to fight back. Hinata interrupts just in time to disrupt the tension.  
  
"Isn't that the whole purpose though? Starting anew, spreading your wings, moving on – all that jazz. I mean, however you want to look at it, it'll still boil down to that."  
  
Kei sends a sharp nudge towards Tobio's unsuspecting shin before proceeding to entertain Hinata's idea. "So what? It can't be anything else but a coming-of-age movie?"  
  
"Pretty much, yeah." Hinata shrugs. "I mean you're nineteen, leaving the nest and moving to a different place – a much, much _bigger place and_ standing on your own two feet with too many questions in your mind. It's definitely a set-up for a coming-of-age movie."  
  
"You think I'd be able to avoid it?" Kei asks, genuinely curious.  
  
This time, it's Kageyama who answers for him. "You didn't do that with rooster head, what makes you think you'd be able to avoid this?"

__

Kei's mind buffers at the question. "What, you think it can happen more than once?"  
  
"I think you'll always have a life-changing epiphany for as long as you live. You can't just say you have matured _once_ – that would mean you haven't learned much at all. For as long as you keep growing up, you're bound to _' come of age'_."  
  
"You mean to say the stages on my life could just have its own coming of age phase?"  
  
"I could see it happening."  
  
"That's-"  
  
Coming of age. A transition from youth to adulthood. Usually about teenagers figuring their shit out. Kei has never heard of a _coming of age_ that can happen more than once – would that even be called a _coming of age_ then? His psychology classes have been very adamant on pointing out that it happens on a certain stage – and beyond that is another.  
  
Were all his prior monologues worth nothing then if he had already _come of age_?  
  
Did Kageyama just say something thought-provoking or is Kei just really dumb?  
  
Whatever the answer is, one remains certain:  
  
Kei is immensely, _helplessly_ baffled.  
  
Hinata's shrewdness catches on to his disbelief and delivers a finely-phrased concern -  
  
"Man, you're surprisingly invested in this. Didn't think Kageyama's thoughts are worth your consideration."  
  
"Frankly, I didn't think so either." Kageyama offers bluntly.  
  
Kei ignores their jabs for curiosity's sake and stumbles over his next words, "Wha – _I_ – did that just make sense or am I just too drunk?"  
  
"Beats me. You're supposed to be the smart one." Hinata replies. "Besides, you can't really get drunk on sprite, ya know."  
  
  


__

*  
  
  


__

Three. Kageyama tells him that you can _'come-of-age'_ at least three times.  
  
Kei doesn't know whether to laugh at such an attempt to reform a genre or cry because he's too intrigued to let go of the idea.  
  
Because of course, to hell with conventions and biology. A middle-aged businessman can _come of age_ whenever and wherever he wants. It's not quite a stretch, seeing as there are still 40-year-old babies out there who can't, for the life of them, move out of their parents' garage.  
  
But really? _Three times_?  
  
Three times he's going to transition into adulthood?  
  
_"_ _Not adulthood."_  
  
Kageyama's correction rings somewhere in his mind.  
  
_"_ _Stop thinking of it as a 15-year-old kid going 19. Start thinking of it as a some-year-old guy going on a journey for self-discovery...like pursuing the epitome of happiness or realising that your initial epiphany can change."_  
  
Maybe Kageyama is right ( not because he's finally able to use big words like _epitome_ and _epiphany_ – although the superficial side of Kei thinks they offer more credibility).

__

Maybe Kei has been contaminated by their idiocy.  
  
Or maybe, a series of hardships can mould a person to be braver -and that maybe, just _maybe_ , for as long as those hardships exist, the person will keep on learning and learning – just like a coming of age movie on repeat.  
  
Kei takes that idea in mind and formulates another list.  
  
His first must have been Volleyball – from _just_ a school club to more than a school club.  
  
His second is obviously Kuroo – from a senior who happened to like volleyball to a senior who happened to like Kei.  
  
And third?  
  
That third, Kei realises much, _much_ later on, came in the form of Bokuto Koutaro.  
  
  


__

*

__

**Kei is for Koutaro, Koutaro is for Kei**

__

__

By _much, much later on_ – he means the third month of college.

__

On the third week. Down the third hall of the campus' third building.

__

At three o'clock in the afternoon, just after the end of his third class.

__

And _yes_ , Kageyama has warned him about the unlucky number three. And _no_ , Kei has not listened to his horoscope ramblings because – _yes_ , he instead spent the whole morning cackling at his friend's reminder like an unchained hyena on the loose.

__

But God, as Kei has always deemed him to be, is a hostile, vengeful God. And he scrutinises Kei with the wrath of a thunderous sky and a dying engine. Of course, God is merciful to anyone who isn't Kei. Kei is undeserving of his love. He is a mean, grumpy fella who runs on bad luck and cold beverages.

__

_Must be karma_ , Kageyama's voice proclaims in his mind. And perhaps it was. You see, it has come to his attention that his moments of happiness are scarce – his moments of peace even scarcer. And it only takes Kei about 2 minutes and fifty-nine seconds to process that inevitable reality with an agonising possibility: he is doomed to suffer an eternal cycle of inconveniences.

__

"Need a ride?"

__

A chuckle – barely heard from the confines of Kei's tinted windows. Kei hears it ring loud enough to poke him back into wariness and blink rapidly at the bleary figure before him.

__

The figure's shadow is broad, his height tall enough to cover Kei's scratched panes. But what is most striking of this handsome man is his hair, a gravity-defying monstrosity the great contrast of his humble clothing.

__

And Kei, equipped with nothing but a gaping mouth and wrinkled forehead, sputters indignantly at the sight of it all.

__

"Bokuto...san?" He utters it so hesitantly with hardly a din left to linger at the end of his question.

__

_For 2 minutes and fifty-nine seconds, Kei had been all alone –moping miserably at his own misfortunes._

__

"Good to see you again, Tsukki." The man says. A cool, casual greeting that perplexes Kei to no end.

__

_And just like that, in a chaste span of three minutes, Kei went from being alone to being not so alone._

__

It sure is a surprising company, and it does leave him indefinitely confused.

__

Kei doesn't know whether to holler at the _likelihood_ of his situation –because frankly, Kei had neither expected nor asked for Bokuto Koutaro to suddenly appear out of nowhere.

__

But Bokuto-san does anyway. He comes when Kei least predicts the tides of surprises to be higher than normal. He comes when Kei least desires the possibilities of disturbances to be greater than usual.

__

Bokuto-san appears to him in a spontaneous fashion – with tight black jeans, unkempt hair and a gaudy helmet on one hand...just as what his spontaneity would demand.

__

Kei sighs at the _unlikelihood_ of it all.

__

_Of course._

__

Of course, Kuroo's friends would be here. Of course, they'd be inclined to talk to him. Because _of course_ , Kuroo is an existence that will forever leave a mark anywhere he treads – in Volleyball, in Tokyo – in the glorious, unbidden existence that is Bokuto Koutaro.

__

_Ha_ , so much for that monotonous rising action.

__

"So? You need that ride or are you fine with walking an extra mile?"

__

Kei arches his brows at the suggestion and almost takes it into serious consideration. Bokuto-san catches on to his qualms and protests with a clamorous cackle.

__

"Come on, Tsukki. Jennifer could use some new company."

__

The man jabs his finger then, a blazing red bike posted right behind his lax shoulders. Kei quirks his brow at the name and simpers with amusement.

__

"Good to see you haven't changed one bit." Kei offers as a greeting.

__

Bokuto-san's smile widens as he exits his car with a sound creak. His shoes tap at the cold pavement and his shoulders tense under the heat of Bokuto-san's gaze. And for a short moment, he thinks the fervent stares would be enough to warm his quaking fingers.

__

They don't quell from the indiscreet gawking. But they do quell under the thin covers of Bokuto-san's bomber jacket.

__

When Kei regards Bokuto-san's gesture with a quizzical look, Bokuto-san simply beams at him with as much zeal as before. With that smile in mind, Kei willingly revels in the added comfort on his back.

__

"Why don't we catch up on the things that change while on the ride?" He says, as if Kei had no choice in the matter. But with a rumbling car and freezing skin – Kei thinks it's better than surviving an hour's worth of trekking. So down he goes the rabbit hole, knees weak and chin high, ready to oppose his unlucky _threes_ with a ride to Tokyo's busy streets.

__

_It's a first for everything._

__

Not that it’s his first time riding a bike. He's done it many times with Akiteru's flashy motorcycle. But it was the first Kei had ever gone on a ride with someone else besides his brother. It certainly was the first Kei had ever blatantly shrieked at someone else's driving.

__

"Do you really want to catch up on things or are you trying to kill me?"

__

The engine roars at Kei as if to taunt. "Sorry Tsukki, it's been a while since I got this excited. I'm sure Jen's feeling it too."

__

"Aren't you always excited?" Kei tightens his grip as they pass another car. The wind howls at him with a frightening pace, and Kei, feeling deeply remorseful, soon finds himself thanking Hinata and Kageyama for always tolerating his shitty driving.

__

Bokuto-san's laughter doesn't waver even as Kei nags him with a harsher reproach. His speed slows expertly however and with it, his subtle humming too.

__

“Well Tsukki, some moments just deserve a greater celebration than others."

__

_Celebration_. Kei stills at that. His heart murmurs back at him with a resounding snick. It grinds and gnashes close to his lungs, caging a wildfire in between bated breaths. And with a sudden halt, an addled pause to amuse repressed summer memories – Kuroo's flames come tumbling back with unbridled force. And _dammit_ , does Kei hate the way it burns him with nostalgia.

__

So he retorts, with much malice, "And some moments don't."

__

Because he's spiteful like that.

__

Thankfully, Bokuto-san doesn't comment on it. Surprisingly, he never brings up anything about Kuroo-san or volleyball or even Miyagi. Kei supposes they have little in common. Beyond that, is just a space of infinite awkwardness that Kei has already accounted for. He still anticipates for _something_. Another question perhaps, another stupid quip to chortle at – anything Bokuto-san's spontaneity allows.

__

His hopes are delivered to him when Bokuto-san's engine finally dwindles into a droned whine. They're parked at a shop, Kei notices. Its bricks are brightly-coloured and painted over with an explosion of verdurous plants. The sign above the wooden doors blinks back at Kei with a golden glint, amplified by the glow of Bokuto-san's toothy grin.

__

"Don't be silly Tsukki, every moment with you is worth a celebration."

__

And if that doesn't make Kei's heartstrings chime –

__

Really, who could ever deny such an earnest person? Not him for sure.

__

Bokuto-san is irresistible. Always was and always will be.

__

Kei remembers, in the three-second glance he shares with the older, blue skies and spry chatters – a vivid remembrance to reminisce on dreary days. And the nostalgia hits Kei with bittersweet veracity, that he is no longer 15 and playing volleyball, or 16 and stealing kisses from Kuroo's lips – _no_ , he is 19, standing at a foreign ground a great distance from the dusty pavements of Miyagi.

__

Kei is 19 and he feels like a novelty to himself.

__

"Hope the city's treating you well, Tsukki." Bokuto-san's voice cuts through his musings and echoes along to the cafe's wiry music. They're seated at the back, away from the peering eyes of chattering guests and sleep-deprived students.

__

The place is a humble contradiction to the bustling exterior of the city and for a brief second, Kei almost forgets about Bokuto-san for fear of missing out on the tranquil ambience of the cafe.

__

"I've been living a humble life in Tokyo for three months, Bokuto-san. So far, the only bad treatment I've ever received is this dry strawberry short-cake."

__

The older ignores his jab out of surprise, "You mean to tell me you've been here for three months and you didn't contact me at least once? I'm hurt, Tsukki!"

__

"Well I –" _didn't think you'd even remember me,_ is what he wants to say. He opts instead with a kinder reason, "I got busy."

__

Bokuto-san doesn't look convinced but he acts like he does and doesn't push for more. It's startling to see the man this way. He didn't act as overzealous as his high school self, and he wasn't as draining to be around. While there stays a hint of that youthful, boundless energy, Bokuto-san seems to appear more reserved and, dare Kei says, mature.

__

Now that was a change worth noting.

__

"That's fine. We were bound to meet anyway. Seeing you at that parking lot must have been fate's work."

__

Kei takes it back. Bokuto-san isn't mature at all. "Fate? You believe in that stuff? How _Bokuto-san_ of you, Bokuto-san."

__

The man doesn't take offence at his words. He chuckles at them with blithe disregard. "Salty as ever, Tsukki."

__

"Well, that's the one thing that hasn't changed." Kei replies confidently.

__

"And the new things?"

__

The question is asked in a softer manner, as if the older suddenly felt hesitant to pry. Kei takes pity on Bokuto-san's tense shoulders and answers with a pensive stare,

__

"I could tell you all about it if you buy me a strawberry milkshake."

__

__

*

__

__

They talk for a total of three hours.

__

By the first hour, Kei drinks a total of two milkshakes.

__

By the second, Kei has eaten more than three slices of cake.

__

And by six in the evening, Bokuto-san delivers him to his doorstep with a bag of sweet cookies in one hand.

__

"Don't text me when it's not necessary." Kei says as a farewell, lilting his voice to fill the rising silence between them.

__

Bokuto-san grins slightly at his words and sends him a brisk wave. His hands flex a little as he pockets them, the light strain in his shoulders going slack under the streetlight's blue radiance. Like this, Bokuto-san looks breathtaking. 

__

"Can't promise anything, Tsukki!" He jests, and Kei has to nibble on his lips to stop the colours from spreading to his face.

__

"I hope you'll have a good evening, Bokuto-san." His nape feels warm, marked by the remnants of heat in Bokuto-san's jacket that he has yet to return. The tone he chooses is softer than the steady buzzing of the vending machines behind them. The stare he gives is gentler than the beating in Kei's chest.

__

"I hope you do too." The older returns, just as soft, just as kind. And with a smooth exit, he bounds down the stairs in jolly steps. They falter at the last level, Bokuto-san's eyes glimmering with unconstrained glee as he faces Kei one last time. "And Tsukki?"

__

"Yeah?"

__

"Maybe it isn't fate. But I'm still glad you just _happened_ to be here."

__

The blonde blinks blankly before giggling without warning. He feels something ticklish crawl up his skin and seep into his lungs. Then, as if possessed, he freely lets out long bouts of breathless laughter.

__

"I'm glad you just _happened_ to be here too, Bokuto-san."

__

And with that, they part – minds filled with a silent promise to call each other after dinner.

__

__

*

__

__

Bokuto-san always asks about the most trivial things. Kei finds that out much too sooner than he would have preferred. It's not quite an annoyance, really – Bokuto-san may be a bit rowdy and raucous at times but he remains purely and adamantly ebullient that Kei can't help but find him endearing.

__

Shiny things have always greatly appealed to him. And Bokuto-san was the epitome of a sunshine boy on a merry walk to the glummest neighbourhood in town.

__

So Kei thinks his reason for entertaining Bokuto-san's strings of questions is not too irrational. Bokuto-san is simply curios, something Kei had all but acknowledged in the curt and brief moments he's shared with the older. And they vary, some are situational, some are outlandish - anything an eager, extroverted person would ask about.

__

_"What's your favourite song?"_ The man would pry. And Kei would retort with some made-up artist just to test the genuineness of his interest. But then Bokuto-san would fail to catch on to his shrewd schemes, and continue to probe for more without the slightest bit of dismay -

__

_"Why do you like strawberry so much?"_ He doesn't like it. He worships it.

__

" _Do you watch documentaries?"_ Only the ones with cute penguins in them.

__

" _What's your horoscope sign?"_ He does not know and he refuses to know.

__

" _Does your neck ever get tired of having to look down when talking to kids and short people?"_ Yes. But he takes great pleasure in tormenting Hinata with the offhanded gesture.

__

_"If you could be a dinosaur, what would you be?"_ Ankylosaurus. Not that Kei would really admit it out loud. Not that Bokuto-san would even know about it.

__

But Bokuto-san would find a way anyway because Bokuto-san is persistent– adorably so that Kei finds his intrusive presence to be quite the favourable company. The man pesters him about anything and everything with unfiltered investment. And the questions follow Kei anywhere he goes - to the library, to the coffee shop he frequents. On the way home. On the way to the campus.

__

But the thing is, Bokuto-san only asks when it doesn't matter. He never asks when it does. Instead, he waits. And in turn, Kei would be the one left asking.

__

"Why do you want to know so much about me?"

__

Bokuto-san, always one to amuse Kei's scant questions, would simply smile and whisper uncharacteristically, "Is there a reason I shouldn't?

__

Sometimes it's laced with unparalleled surety as if there really is no space for doubt. But sometimes, it's laced with insecurity too, one that Kei finds unfitting for the bright-eyed man – and it lingers with a deeper intent -

__

_"Is_ _it okay?"_

__

Now Kei could nod at that and finally do away with the interference in his once, peaceful college life. Kei could even give a brisk shrug of honesty. Kei could say _no_ – but then that would be lying. That would be cheating his way out of the inevitable rising action. And no matter the blaring signs of a _downslope_ ahead, Kei ignores them all anyway for something much more _present._

__

To hell with the consequences, Kei is 19 and he is impulsive.

__

So Kei, always one to amuse Bokuto-san's never-ending questions, simply smiles in return and whispers gently, "I don't think I see any reason to stop."

__

The questions continue, as if with no interruption. And each day, Kei grows more and more invested. And each day, Bokuto-san acts more and more intrigued. Each day, they lean closer and closer to each other, with not a distance to cover but the few short inches between their parted lips.

__

Somewhere, at the back of his mind, Kei hears the cautionary beeps of distant sirens. Somewhere, at the front of his mind, is Bokuto-san's tender and loving smiles.

__

"Is this okay?" He would ask again. All sweet and sincere.

__

And Kei would be reminded of how trivial Bokuto-san's questions are. How unforgivingly beguiling they could be. Because even now, as Kei latches on to him like a second lifeline, Bokuto-san still waits. Bokuto-san still wants to be sure.

__

Kei thinks the only answer he'll ever need is a swift exhale and a breathy – "Kiss me."

__

Three seconds. Bokuto-san kisses him with everything he _feels_ in a short span of three seconds. Then three seconds turns into four, into five– into a week's worth of kisses where Kei is left counting and –oh dear, he knows where this is going. 

__

Kei knows what a skipping heart means. Kei knows what a smitten look says. Kei _knows_.

__

"Can I kiss you more?"

__

\- but he doesn't have the gall to shy away from them.

__

"You don't have to ask."

__

__

*

__

__

It has become quite of a tradition, that when Kei kisses a person more than once, he would secretly call that person by his first name.

__

And it has become quite of an expectation, that when Kei slips and uses the name more than once, the name's owner would gawk at him in a silly fashion.

__

"Close your mouth, Koutaro-san. I don't like kissing mouths full of bugs."

__

__

*

__

__

Koutaro never forgets to kiss Kei.

__

Whenever Kei feels unsafe, Koutaro will kiss him three times.

__

And Kei doesn't ask for it. Koutaro just knows when to give it.

__

When his mind gears towards the wrong direction and his lungs are plagued by a hostile winter – Koutaro appears just in time to kiss his doubts away. He never fails to be there. Something Kei had always yearned from Kuroo. From himself.

__

Though, some awful thoughts loiter longer than others. Some thoughts stay like a pesky, unwanted intruder. They pound and scratch on Kei's bubble. Shamelessly, they make a room in the cracks that form in his head.

__

Those nights, Koutaro stays with him – under rumpled sheets and warm caresses. Those nights, Koutaro cradles him – with lulling hums and whispered shushes.

__

"Take a deep breath and count to three."

__

Kei does.

__

_One_. Koutaro kisses him on the temple.

__

_Two_. Koutaro kisses him on the lids.

__

And, just to tease, a momentary pause. An unspoken promise of a restful evening.

__

Then _three_. Koutaro kisses him on the lips. Short but loving. Brief but _everlasting_. 

__

Whenever Kei feels unsure, Koutaro will kiss him three times. He always saves the lips for last because, _“that’s where you feel love the most.”_

__

Kei doesn't tell him to do so. Koutaro just does it.

__

And sometimes they work. And sometimes they take a little time.

__

When Kei's mind creaks and squeaks, and his lungs are filled with a suffocating uncertainty – the kisses do not feel true. When Kei's heart grows wary and jealous, and the stare he gives Koutaro's company is ill-mannered – the kisses do not feel sincere. They feel annoyed, frustrated – and Kei has dealt with that tone well enough to know what will happen next.

__

"Keiji is a friend."

__

"It's not about that."

__

Really, it's not about impeding on a reunion between exes. It's not about being reluctant about your lover's so-called _friend_.

__

No, Kei is not childish.

__

Kei is not dumb either.

__

He knows what it _really_ is about – the fleeting glances that last more than a second, the casual touches that last more than a minute, the flushed cheeks and the unsaid yearning that must have lasted for more than a year – before Kei has even left kisses on the places Akaashi-san has kissed first –

__

"Then what is it about?"

__

Kei answers him with a question of his own, "Do you love me?"

__

"Is there a reason I shouldn't?" Koutaro returns. A cheeky taunt for a habit they can't seem to shake off, the both of them always asking the other, always waiting for assurance.

__

"No, but –"

__

"I love you, Kei." And Koutaro says it with much conviction. He says it without faltering.

__

_"Then why are you still looking at him like that?"_

__

The question is never asked. But the fear plants itself like a parasite.

__

It latches on even as they fall down the bed, covered in each other's embraces. It clings on even as he holds Koutaro's hand, haunted by a gnawing suspicion. It stays, even when Koutaro does not – when Kei wakes up to an empty view with nothing to grasp but leftover warmth.

__

"You love him too right?"

__

He finally musters the courage to ask.

__

But this time Koutaro doesn't answer with a question of his own. Instead, he gives him a sad, _sad_ smile. A smile that never seems to fit him.

__

And _dear,_ does Kei know how this will go down – _dear_ , does Kei know how this _first_ will end.

__

" _Take a deep breath and count to three."_

__

Kei obliges. But not without painful resignation.

__

_One_. A kiss on the temple.

__

_Two_. A kiss on the lids.

__

Then, with a brisk pause – damned to exist for as long as Kei lives –

__

_Three._ A long and loving kiss on the lips.

__

Kei, blessed with a brief moment of relief, makes himself believe that Koutaro kisses to say ' _no'_. That Koutaro kisses to mean _'Kei'–_ and only Kei.

__

"I love you."

__

The question is never answered. And the absence stalls like a phantom touch. Kei doesn't have half the gall to ask again.

__

He doesn’t wait for anything either. Because he knows. Kei _knows_.

__

__

*

__

__

"Fucking coming of age movies."

__

He tells to no one, one bleak evening. His nose is chafed from all the crumpled tissue papers. His eyes are red and swollen from all the pathetic sobbing.

__

Kageyama and Hinata stay silent by his side, offering him two, too small shoulders to cry on and a tub of ice cream that's barely full.

__

_Ha_ , so much for starting anew.

__

*

__


	3. the lonely fives, and the skipped steps

*

five

Bokuto left just as spontaneously as he had appeared. And with it, the counted _threes_ too. The three bomber jackets in varying blacks and blues, three neatly folded sheets in rose-scented cases and the three, tiny dinosaur figurines stacked atop three crumpled letters of badly written apologies – all tightly packed and delivered straight to the nearest dumping site.

Three months. They say you have to give yourself at least three months of respite before moving on.

But Kei thinks three months is a lonely reprieve – a sad, pitiful excuse to retreat further into the deep, dark hollows of your own failures and unmet fantasies. Three months is a long, unforgiving time to _bask_ in his melancholy – and Kei is neither patient nor gallant enough to face the corollaries of his endeavours. Frankly, he's done with all of it.

Kei is done with _threes_.

It's to be expected. He'd known about it then – had spent a reckless amount of time feigning ignorance. The warnings had blared for more than a mile away, closer than what Kei had accounted for, but predictable nonetheless. They were always there. In between shared kisses, cited songs and promised dates. They bellowed even, in between restless sighs and flushed skins – when Kei had first been held, had first been called a name he had rarely revelled in.

“ _Hotaru,”_ \- as what the signs had teasingly called him.

And Kei, the unwary fool, eagerly savoured its sweet, sinful taste of impermanence.

No one's to blame, really. Bokuto was a man who simply loved too fast and promised too quickly. And Kei was a man who foolishly went along with every uttered secret and bathed in their lovesick reveries. So it's inevitable, that a pair marked by an unbidden bond, would be fated to meet a prompt end. Kei calls it an unchangeable consequence for impetuous romantics. It's the only shred of destiny he would ever believe in, and it's the only future he could ever see himself in.

Still, he can't help but wonder, with intrusive suspicion, how things could have played out had he been more doubtful, more careful – had Kei not blinded himself with that farce, curt moment of happiness, would the bumpy downslope not hurt as much as it did? Hell, would the ragged slopes even appear at all?

It's an appeasing offer for sure. Kei would likely leap at the chance for even an ounce of it. Call him a cheater, Kei doesn't care. Not anymore. He's long forgotten about silly principles.

Kei is 21 and he only values five things.

His friends. Akiteru. The headphones Hinata bought him for Christmas. The cat that hangs around his part of the patio. And the granny next door.

He makes it so that no other disturbances can fit in. That no unnecessary exemptions are made. If there is a need for one, Kei makes it so that it is only temporary.

There's a pattern for it, Kei notices. That for every fifth of every month, he takes with him a new addition. A thing, a place – a guy. Sometimes faceless, sometimes nameless – all blurry lines and hazy figures. He does it just to feel something. _Anything_. Because it's always the case with him.

Kei is always yearning for a throb that's near indiscernible. An ache that is near nonexistent. And he craves for it in the briefest, most trivial of constructs.

Those constructs, as intangible as they may be, live in bodies that are inherently nonpermanent. A cursory addition with no vessel to live on. They weren't meant to stay. Only meant as an interlude – a passerby to greet on listless mornings. And when they leave, another appears, but there's never enough space to make for them.

Because Kei is 21 and he only values five things. The rest are fleeting chances. And he makes it so that most are missed.

“And if you regret it?” Kageyama asks him, one bitter evening, as they lounge close by the patio with nicotine in their heaving lungs.

Kei regards his companion with a stare so remiscent of young, orange horizons – nothing but the daze of dusk to cast over his slouching shadows. “Better than getting hurt.” He says, shrugging.

His friend snorts at that, ready to scrutinise and pick apart Kei's contradictions. And although clearly misconstrued, Kei still hearkens to the other's sentiments.

“You can't avoid it forever, you know?”

But Kei believes he can. And he will. Heaven's plight be damned.

“You don't know that.”

A quirk, a slight curved brow to question his intentions – not that Kei has any clear path to lay down his plans on. He's drifting, led astray by a rusting anchor barely the weight of his wilting cigarettes. But Kageyama is sharp enough to understand his desperation. He's as every bit of a realist as Kei is, and so he chooses his words wisely, never one to coat them with saccharine lies –

“Your choice.” He says with a flinching sigh of reservation, “It's going to be a despairing future for sure.”

Despair. Kei thinks it's a warning worth hearing. Just as perilous as a _first_. But not too horrid of a downslope to tumble down to. With despair, it would only take him five, smooth strides to reach the damned ending everyone so blissfully avoids. With despair, he could rid of the uncertainties for tomorrow – no more second-guessing, no more waiting or mourning. _Just me, myself and I._

“It's your loss.” Kageyama apprises anyway, a tinge of worry dissipating into bleak streaks of smoke. He doesn't say much – has always mumbled the minimum out of the two of them. And so it's not an eerie occurrence, for Kei or for Kageyama, to waste the rest of the night with liquor-scented lips and whistling ashtrays. A teasing silence for a ceaseless twilight, as they often dubbed it.

And like that, Kei inhales the last of his words with little hesitation. The dense stillness reverberates around them, it inches further and further into his skin with a preening sign of a loss. A loss that he so woefully feels in his bones – and like a nagging mother, it settles close to his mind.

“ _You're not honest at all.”_ It taunts. And Kei feels adamantly inclined to disprove the voice.

*

But you see, gravity is a curse.

And if the heavens are occupied with other things, gravity takes its course and makes it a job to plague Kei with it.

Gravity obtrudes like an unwanted guest – and with it, is an unlikely, uninvited, un- _anything_ man. And this man, Kei already knows, is the very embodiment of devil's cupid at work. This man, Kei already sees, is a first that is doomed to fall.

“ _So obliging, you stupid, stupid, man.”_

*

**Kei is for Tooru, Tooru is for Kei**

Oikawa Tooru stumbles into his doorstep at near midnight. A random introduction for sure, but the man is as every bit as intrusive as his appearances portray.

That and the handful of randomness that surrounds him.

Oikawa-san is nothing short of a magician, really. He acts and dresses like one. But he doesn't do it with spontaneity, he does with subtleness – like a silver fox gliding through the wintry terrains and pouncing on the last minute. Silent and mystifying even in that awful, unsavoury checkered pants of his and long, black coat.

He appears dishevelled – _jaded_. His breath smells of booze and his collar is dyed with thick, black smoke. And yet he still looks ineffable – not in the lengthy way romance would cite beauty, but in the simple way ordinary people would exhale in awe. As if you were simply passing by a glitzy jewellery shop.

Kei knows these details because he's mere inches away from the man himself. And he can vividly describe the glamourous being that is Oikawa-san even when the both of them are worn and wearied from an unprecedented foot chase. Because the man is just _that_ undeniably pretty.

“Never been in a fight, blondie?” No, he's not as elusive or odd enough for it.

Because Kei has never been one to get into senseless scuffles. He doesn't involve himself in anything physically challenging (kinky sex aside). He prefers classy banters, the one with fewer bruises on the shins or cheeks (again, excluding matters of kinks) – but a simple hue of pride in his lungs as he delivers a flat, unchallenged comeback. This, frantically running a mile to escape a gang of addleheaded harassers, is not Kei's forte.

This, taking home a senior from high school he's barely acquainted with, is never a _Kei-thing_ to do. Hinata maybe, but Kei? Standoffish Kei? Ridiculous. He supposes, gravity is a bitch – and it only requires five seconds to make his life a living paradox. Because Kei should not be this attracted to the guy – should not be inclined to offer the man a coffee and hope for a good fuck.

He has no space for any addition –

“Never thought I'd ever need to be in one.” He finds himself entertaining the guest anyway. He shouldn't have.

Oikawa-san blinks at his words in near surprise, “With that tongue of yours? Doesn't sound like you at all, glasses.”

“Ah, my reputation precedes me.” Kei retorts, no longer breathless. “You see, my tongue can be useful in a lot of ways, so I don't bother with senseless brawls.”

His nonchalance is met with a curious chuckle. “Settling things through blowjobs? How saintly.”

Kei huffs, displeased. He returns the offhanded remark with the tilt of his chin, eyes trained to the elevator's buttons. They're safe from the cold streets now, hands seated comfortably in their furry pockets. “You picking fights is beyond me, and yet here we are.”

“I don't really have a choice.” Oikawa-san wipes his lips with a bandaged fist, as if to prove a point. Oddly enough, Kei finds himself feeling concerned for the older.

“Either you're an underground fighter or you're just an unlucky guy.” His comments get him a husky laugh. It rings in Kei's ear and badgers his chest until it thumps loud enough for his lungs to heave.

Oikawa-san ignores the slight hitch in his breath and pulls at the curled ends of his hair. “Not my fault their girlfriends find me cool.”

The reason is trivial and Kei almost snorts at the image of Oikawa-san prying a girl's hand off his shoulders while a peeved boyfriend gawks at them with clenched fists. _Oh,_ what a stupid way to get into unnecessary fights.

“You ever thought of talking things out before jumping in on the fun?”

“You kidding? They don't even spare me a second before they try to land a punch.” He says, miffed. “Had to be more assertive or it's _goodbye-pretty-face_.”

“Yeah, it'd be a pity to lose your only redeeming quality.”

That earns him an irked grin, Oikawa-san's nose scrunching into an expression so similar to that of Kageyama's deep scowls. Ah, what a fun remark to say out loud.

“Such a mean man.” The glint in Oikawa-san's tone is playful, but his eyes remain empty. Even when his words are laced with warmth, filled with sincere relief and gratitude, the shine of black never leaves his gaze. “Thank you, by the way.”

Kei shrugs off the gnawing worry and replies hastily, “I didn't have much choice either. Letting you take on five guys is too cruel even for me.” Really, no one would wish it on any stranger unless they were the perpetrators themselves.

“I gotta be honest, I didn't really paint you as a fast runner.”

Kei's snort chimes just in time, muffled only by the elevator's buzz. And it loudens as Kei steps out of the elevator with a slight twist of the hip. “I'm not. It's either that or it's _goodbye-pretty-face_.”

There's not much exchange after that, just a string of whispered snickers to the peering walls of the long hall. Oikawa-san acts polite for the rest of the late evening, feigning patience as Kageyama entertains his unplanned stay with grumbled greetings, Hinata not so far ahead with his unabashed gawking. Their interaction is jarringly entertaining – more so than the soap operas Hinata cries about every afternoon.

His own conversations with the other is less amusing. Their talks are curt and direct, as if the air of familiarity they had nurtured in the cramped elevator simply dwindled into a muted sigh of resignation. Again, it's to be expected. Because Kei is nothing more than a junior from high school, and Oikawa-san is nothing more than a passerby who needed a place to rest his sore knuckles.

And if the man has any qualms about Kei and Kei's roommates (Hinata's unofficial stay included), he keeps it to himself until morning.

He leaves with his thoughts never fully expressed. His clothes are less rumpled, his skin glows brighter and his lips have more colour despite the biting breeze of winter. Kei finds his composure all the more admirable.

“Well blondie, it was nice seeing you again.”

Kei holds on the threshold of his door, a small, mischievous smile to taunt the older. “Best of luck in your next fight, Oikawa-san.”

“Who knows, maybe some lanky boy's gonna risk his pretty face for me.” Oikawa-san muses in return.

“I'm sure Kageyema would be thrilled to help you.” Kei tells him as a farewell.

And with that, another addition is averted. Oikawa-san disappears with a poof –a silver fox jumping straight back into the magician's hat.

*

“You missed a step.”

\- _except_ , the addition stays a little longer. Kei doesn't think twice responding to it. No, he thinks for a good amount of five times before he finally faces the magician's tricks again. And he does so with a quizzical stare.

“And?” He dares, eyes narrowed.

Oikawa-san steps a little too closely by his side and regards him with an unfazed look. “You were counting, you know.” He comments. The shift in his eyes directs Kei to the tiled pavement. It squeaks under Kei's heeled boots, the tapping too heavy for its liking.

“Five tiles for every step. You only covered four this time.”

“Again,” Kei begins to straighten his slumped shoulders. With a gloved hand, he buries his neck into the hot covers of his white scarf. “ _And?_ ”

Oikawa-san shrugs casually without shame. He acts indifferent even as Kei bristles at the near contact of their shoulders. “Seemed a little odd to fall out of pattern, is all.”

“Stop making me repeat myself,” Kei mutters with a pointed gaze. “Why are you here?”

The question is answered with an instant raise of the hands. Oikawa-san makes a show of gesturing them around to act as affronted as possible. “No need to act surprised. I was just passing by.”

Kei doesn't buy his excuse. He hums warily, inspecting the desolate park with unvoiced suspicion. And when he finds the place short of any strangers, he sends the man a squinted glare.

“Then, if you'll excuse me, I'll go on ahead.” He bows, fastening his strides to the next corner.

But it seems that his pace is not quick enough– as moments later, Oikawa-san is once again posted close to his trembling shoulders. This addition is persistent, Kei discovers. It hovers and clings on to his trails with unyielding tenacity. The addition is annoying too, inviting itself without a shred of tact.

“Come now, blondie. That's no way to treat your senior.” It teases. The lull in its tone is bewitching but Kei is strong enough to decline the unwanted company. Pretty faces be damned.

“I wish to stay and chat but I have homework, your majesty.” It's not exactly a lie. Kei had promised to offer supplementary lessons for Hinata this morning, if he failed to be at home by dinner – Hinata would surely throw a hissing fit and squawk about his betrayal.

But Oikawa-san is nothing but unrelenting. And he times his steps well, enough to catch up to Kei's quickening ones. “You can miss a few more steps along the way.”

He stops, just right before Kei's imprinted tracks. The edges of his lips are pulled to a closed grin. And when Kei dares a look, he sees the same blank orbs stare back at him.

“How about a coffee for your trouble, Kei-chan?”

Kei, in his 21 years of existence, has learned the value of saying no. He's practised rejecting things more than accepting them, and so he's well-equipped with a blunt tongue. But in rare instances, he finds himself unable to decline. And often, in those instances, he becomes more indulgent. Lax. Open. The things Kei is frightened to be. The things Kei despises his weak heart for.

When he looks at Oikawa-san now, he feels that very fear sink into his bones.

“Make sure to add a strawberry shortcake.” He finds himself caving. The bones in his limbs creak and groan, scrambling for safety under the glower of Oikawa-san's charming, _charming_ smile.

“You can have as many as you want.”

With an offer like that? Kei figures it’s worth missing a hundred more steps.

*

“I don't date.”

Kei knows it's presumptuous to say it aloud. Hell, it's presumptuous to even assume it in his mind.

Oikawa-san doesn't seem the least bit offended though, so Kei supposes there's an inkling of truth in his bold assumptions.

“You're one of those people then.”

The younger folds his hand at the older's words, chest puffed with anticipation. His plates clank under his sharp elbows and his drink bubbles soundly from the light nudge. “What people?” Kei asks charily.

Oikawa-san leads him on with a slow silence before finally deciding to answer. “The jaded. The ones who've given up on love. The miserable bunch.”

 _Ah_ , that – Kei had always been called a million names. The glasses-wearing boy. The lanky middle blocker from Karasuno. The blonde guy who sits in the farthest corner of the library. The tall, normal guy you see passing by your favourite cafe. But in all those short descriptions, Kei had never been called jaded or miserable. Or at least, not in the way Oikawa-san seems to propose.

So he asks, with a bit of curiosity, “And if I am, what's it to you?”

And he should've known. That Oikawa-san would never approach him a second time without a valid reason. That Oikawa-san would never spare him a second glance if all he needed was some pleasant company. Because Kei is far from the kind of person Oikawa-san would invite for a coffee. Kei is too much of a stranger to keep in tabs with. And the only acceptable answer to this oddity is –

“Well, Kei-chan, I guess we're kinda the same.”

Oh, what a lovely way to say it. To be so blatantly honest, with no mercy or care. Oikawa-san is a cruel, _cruel_ man it seems. He doesn't hold back – never gentle as Kuroo or Bokuto had been. And the only time he asks, a little sheepish, it comes across as a proposition. A contract to pass the dull nights away.

“Just for comfort.” He offers. “The jaded comforting the jaded, what do ya say blondie?”

Kei, having read past the implications, could not help a little chortle. It echoes with a disdainful stutter – laced with a faltering snark, “Just call it fuckbuddies, you pretentious ass.”

“We got to keep the fake romance sparking.” The man explains to him – as if he hadn't been flamboyant enough. “It'll only be temporary anyway, right?”

Temporary. 16 year old Kei would have hissed at the word. 19 year old Kei, though much calmer, would have splashed the last of his drink in Oikawa-san's face right then and there. But 21 year old Kei is a horny, empty shell of his former selves. And though obstinate in a lot of things, he finds great joy in letting loose.

No more chaste, romantic Kei.

Just temporary people for temporary things.

“So what do you say, blondie. You up for it?”

Temporary is a word for lonely people. Kei is lonely. And in the words of Tsukishima household, _lonely people get the most in life_. They're much like gravity, magnetizing empathetic fools who feel too much for sad whiners. And you either try hard or not try at all – but you'll fail either way. Because a part of you will always be drawn to its deathly pull.

And much like gravity, Oikawa-san is a force that one cannot simply ignore.

*

They dance in the sheets and moan each other's name. Gravity allows them that much.

Fingers trace tense chests and dangle close to chafed hips. They bite and pinch each other's skin, planting kisses on each other's neck and bruised lips.

Gravity binds him to the bed with nothing but his bare soul to offer. And Oikawa-san preys on it without judgement. Without care for the tattered edges in his body.

Many, many men have laid on his pillows with the intent to read him. To understand him. To fix him. But you see, Kei doesn't need fixing. He only wants to be fucked. Hard and rough until he stops counting _his_ breath, _his_ thoughts – _his_ everything.

It's unfortunate, that they're only ever there for the quest – eager to solve a puzzle so they can move on to the next. And as much as they insist it to be some kind of a romance, Kei knows them well enough to doubt their intentions. Kei knows them well enough not to count the kisses they give. Or the promises they leave him.

Oikawa-san is different. With Oikawa-san, Kei doesn't feel questioned. With Oikawa-san, Kei doesn't feel guarded.

With Oikawa-san, they're nothing but a pair of lonely, wandering souls.

And come morrow morning, they'll whisper their goodbyes. Come morrow morning, they'll be nothing more than a couple of passersby who happened to have stumbled upon each other's path.

With no space for any addition.

And it stays like that, even as Kei begins to exhale _Tooru_ in between broken sighs, even as Tooru begins to exhale _Kei_ with a fonder tone – even as Kei finds himself _counting_ Tooru.

*

“Do you want me to stay?”

He asks it with no real intention of staying.

“Why do you have to ask?”

Kei replies to him without any sort of anticipation _._

And Tooru would shrug and lean against his threshold – a mere five steps towards the exit.

“I don't know. I just thought you'd want me to.” He'd say, absently and without any sound inference.

Kei doesn't waste a second chiding him about it, limbs sore for the night and heart spent from pumping restlessly. “Not really.” He croaks. The dents in his pillows grow rigid under his loose hold. “You can stay if you want to – _or,_ leave if you want to.”

He's used to saying it as a farewell. And with Tooru, the sentiment stays unchallenged.

But with Tooru, it wavers a little – it stumbles faintly as if to make fun of Kei and his musings.

“ _Dear Kei-chan, you're not honest at all, aren't you?”_

*

Once, Kei had asked about it.

Something about counting _firsts_.

“ _There's a charm to it_ ,” Tooru had answered. “ _It makes you feel nostalgic. Like reminiscing about a what-if.”_

Once, Kei had asked about him.

Something about his _what-if_.

And he remembers, vividly, how Tooru had answered with a sorrowful look.

“ _I didn't want him to be a what-if.”_

“ _Do you ever think about him every now and then?”_

“ _Kei-chan, I think about him every day.”_

When Kei thinks about it again, he shivers. His fingers tremble and his lips purse with a scalding prickle at the pit of his stomach. He wonders, sometimes, if the emptiness in Tooru's eyes would ever go away – if the damning blackness in his gaze would ever stop haunting Kei.

“ _I don't think it'll ever stop.”_

Once, Kei had asked about them.

Something about the jaded.

“ _Will they be fine someday?”_

But Tooru had not replied then. His quiet smile had been enough of a reason not to ask again.

*

“Do you want me to stay?”

And often, they say no. Because there's a drawn line that lies between them – a thin, unvoiced line not even gravity could intervene.

But on the days when the loneliness bites harder, and spreads faster – they call for each other's company. And in those days, fewer kisses are shared. In those days, Tooru cries to him and clings to his body with a pitiful stagger.

They hold each other not because they're in love. They hold each other because they're out of it.

“Do you want me to stay?”

\- sometimes it's Kei who asks it. Sometimes it's Tooru who offers.

And often they say no. Because nothing is permanent between them. Not even themselves. When Tooru comes to him with the proposition of an end, Kei does not mull over it. He accepts almost instantly without dithering.

“Done passing by?” As what Kei would often call it.

“Yeah.” Tooru tells him. “Just tired of it.”

 _What did you expect?_ Kei wishes to reproach. _The jaded comforting the jaded never promises anything._

“He's getting married,” Tooru adds and the words ring sharp enough that they cut through Kei's own thoughts. “They sent a whole bunch of invitation to my mailbox – wondered if I was ever coming.”

“Will you?” Kei probes. This time, his voice is gentler.

“I don't think I can.”

And it hits him, as he hearkens to Tooru's faltering sobs, that despair isn't as easy as a five-step trek. Because despair doesn't push you to where you ought to be. Despair doesn't send you to a smooth downslope. Instead, it pins you to the ground. It stops you from moving anywhere but where you stand. _Helpless, hopeless – powerless_.

“Kei-chan, maybe you should stop passing by too.”

*

He does. Not because Tooru tells him to.

Kei had simply felt too tired of keeping things at bay – always on the edge, trying to count the additions and failing miserably to keep it at _five_.

“ _You're not honest at all, aren't you?”_

\- and because the voice in his head keeps blaring at him in that idle pitch, taunting him with a familiar flair that Kei has grown to associate with Tooru's tight smiles and void stares.

The winter grows colder, but Tooru is long gone. And the raw chill stays with Kei and his unloved sheets. But even then, as Kei keeps getting less and less company, he doesn't feel as lonely. Even then, as Tooru's short, fleeting kisses dwindle into unanswered calls– Kei doesn't feel as abandoned.

“You're not gonna gripe about it?” Kageyama poses the question to him, one late evening by the corner of their small, dingy patio.

They stand close to each other, with shoulders hunched and elbows bent against the tarnished railings. Kei inhales the last of his nicotine and Kageyama lights the first of his batch. Their legs are still, frigid under the floating strings of snow and nothing – not even the distant humming of the city's crowd, could impede their silent charade.

Kei replies with a vague tilt of the chin. He keeps his hum to a bare minimum, his pauses resounding with a heavier inflection. “What's there to cry about?”

Kageyama scowls, baffled. “Well, good to know you're not in love with the guy then.”

“Tooru?” Kei clarifies in a startled fashion. He chuckles, smoke stuck between his chattering teeth. “Not every sex has to have love in it. A good fuck is a good fuck, you virgin.”

His friend grumbles something incoherent. Something about protesting against the insult and cursing Tooru's name.

“He's not a bad guy.” Kei defends. Kageyama squawks at him then. _Just jaded_ , Kei wants to add. He opts instead with an abrupt huff. It's not enough to soothe the confused creases in Kageyama's face, but it's a passable excuse to sway the conversation elsewhere.

“You only fall for those kinds of guys.” Kageyama comments anyway, cognizant of the other's unvoiced thoughts. And the weight of his words rings heavier than Kei's silence. It pounds and nudges Kei with the realization that perhaps _,_ in some form or the other, Kei had felt love for Tooru too. Perhaps, in some cryptic type of way, Kei had felt something for the man. _Sympathy? Familiarity? Comfort?_ Kei isn't sure, but he's for certain Tooru had left a bigger mark on his mind than all the other passersby.

“So you're really not going to do anything?” Kageyama asks again.

“Nope.” Kei answers back. This time, he feels a little more honest. “I think I skipped too many steps already. I'm going to do something about _that_.”

Because this time, Kei finally feels like fixing himself.

*

Once, when Kei had been 19 and deeply hurt, Akiteru had knocked on his doors with a can of beer and two boxes of fresh strawberries.

And they talked, for a long, _long_ night, about everything and anything – straying far away from names like _Kuroo_ or _Bokuto_. Far from numbers like _twos_ and _threes_.

“ _You were my first heartbreak.”_ He'd told his brother then, drunk and erratic. The aching _firsts_ laid fresh in his memory.

And Akiteru had simply glanced at him, so, _so_ unapologetically truthful. _“And I wish I was your last.”_

Kei cackled at that. A little broken. A little wearied. _“But it doesn't work that way, does it?”_

Because Kei is no longer 13 and gullible. And Akiteru is no longer the insecure, young liar that he once was. Kei had hoped anyway, for any bit of interlude, any kind of ease, just to fill the gaping hopelessness in his eyes.

Kei remembers, how much he would fear the slightest bit of loss of colour in his body – how much he would fret about the rot of another romance gone wrong.

“ _It's painful, I know. What you feel now and what you feel tomorrow may not change at all, but trust me when I say it'll be better each day – not because things just magically get there, but because_ _ **you**_ _do._ _ **You**_ _get better, little by little.”_

But see, Kei was 19 and deeply hurt. Kei was 19 and _spent_.

And so he'd whispered then, voice laced with a tone so reminiscent of the doubtful boy who'd scoff and grumble about his mother's bedtime stories – _“What if I'm too tired?”_

“ _You have me.”_ Akiteru had whispered back, his own voice laced with a tone so reminiscent of the careless boy who'd smile too quickly and cry too easily about his brother's scraped knees. _“And you have yourself. The thing is Kei, we're never gonna stop hurting. We, humans, spend so much time giving it all for other people that by the time we're exhausted, we have no more left for ourselves. We're all romantics at our very core – and that's why we ache.”_

Once, when Kei had been 19 and deeply hurt, Akiteru had knocked on his doors with a can of beer and two boxes of fresh strawberries.

And they talked, about anything and everything.

“ _The secret is to spend all of what remains on yourself. No one else. Not me. Not them. Just you.”_

“ _But that sounds too selfish.”_

“ _Oh Kei, it's okay to be a little selfish.”_

*

Kei wakes with a jolt. A dream too vivid sits close at the forefront of his memory.

“Bad dream?” Kageyama's voice appears from behind the kitchen island. A glass of water lays close by his side.

“Just a random one,” Kei tells him.

“Good,” Kageyama says. His nose is scrunched up again. Kei immediately recognises the face as a forewarning. “You'd want to be in a good mood when you read this.” He adds, waving a small paper in front of his sight.

Kei squints and watches it glide to his part of the couch. He gingerly takes the paper and narrows his eyes on the bold, golden letters -

It reads:

 _Yamaguchi Tadashi_.

*


	4. what we were, and what we will be

*

four

Kei has only ever been to four weddings. All exclusive and romantic. The venues had been nothing but a sparkling _'fuck you'_ to miserable folks – short of plus-ones and pleasant company. And despite the temptation to be as adamantly bitter about it as possible, Kei had forgone the malice and opted for a less hostile approach. His clothes, for the most parts, had been more than tactful.

He wore a tight-fitting black suit to his aunt's grandiose celebration, a less-fancy silk shirt to his cousin's modest nuptial, a much more sophisticated one at Akiteru's and a red-themed vest for Tanaka-san's. Most of the celebrations had been expected – some overdue, some more than daunting.

Three of those weddings had been held in Miyagi. Close to home, even. But not once had Kei seen or met Tadashi in any of them. Funnily enough, the fourth to be held in his hometown just so happens to be his.

The letter pinned to his dresser makes that clear.

It's bittersweet, if Kei were to be honest. He remembers vaguely, some years ago, how he would often ponder about the future. He'd been too young then, too cynical that nothing would truly last. He would never be the greatest volleyball player, the best student or the most loved son – those positions, his younger self deemed as replaceable. He could be the at the top of the ranks, at the peak of everything where he could gloat and preen as much as he wanted to, but it would never be forever.

Someone else is bound to take his place.

And yet somehow, with Tadashi, Kei never felt the need to fret over anything. Kei never felt the looming threat of a _replacement_. With Tadashi, he felt as if he had a place to belong to. A place that seemed to have been built only for him. And in this place, where a warm space laid, Kei felt irreplaceable. Kei felt permanent in someone else's life.

“And here I thought things would stay the same.” He mutters to Kageyama, unfazed by the glimmering letters that gawked at him then. And if Kei senses a pinch of sadness in his stomach, Kageyama is kind enough to not comment about it. He knows anyway.

Kei does too. He'd long known not to count on the assurances of _firsts_. _Time likes to tease_ , his mother would reason. And as much as he would love to yell and growl at every ticking clock, they would never be human enough to understand the fear of spending a second, a minute – an hour of wandering relentlessly without any rest to spare.

Because Time is an unforgiving foe that preys on the anxious. Time doesn't care enough to wait. And so when one feels tired, frayed or rumpled – Time doesn't dare cast them a glance. It moves on ahead and leaves its tracks barren of any promise. And those who persist will persist and pick up whatever is spared. And those who remain will remain – unless they persist themselves. Because Time will not grieve over their loss, or stop to grieve with them. Time only has itself to follow, and it does not offer anything for the _unchanged_.

“So what do you wanna do then?” Kageyama would often ask him about it – what thoughts he would act on, what choices he would take. He lays his judgements bare with unparalleled bluntness, the ends of his lips tainted with a little bit of exasperation as if to scoff at Kei's endless misgivings. He'd found them obnoxious, Kei simplifies – always the first to interject Kei's supposed fixed principles with a cutting tone at the end of his questions.

Figures, Kageyama is forthright. Just the kind of person Time prefers to keep as company. Terse, frank and direct – he's never been one to dilly-dally for too long. Always on the rise and never one to delay anything important. So it's nowhere near baffling that Kageyama would be unfiltered with his dissatisfaction of Kei and his diffidence – his passivity, nonchalance, indifference – however and whatever he wishes to call it. Their shades vary but their point remains constant:

Kei is stalling. And Kageyama finds it wasteful.

Kei isn't too offended by it. If anything, he's grown fond of it. He even made a new friend out of Kageyama's ceaseless ramblings. They ring in his ears when he dawdles on a decision, peeved by the distressing amounts of delays. They huff when he spends less than a second on a conclusion, contented that Kei has more to spare on other things.

A simple black-and-white with nothing in between.

“It's not that easy.” Often, Kei refutes. “Nothing is easy.” Often, Kei objects.

Picking a suit to mask the shame of being a long-forgotten friend takes more than a few seconds. Mulling over unfulfilled reveries require more than a few hours. Packing a week's worth of his empty future to brag to a decade's worth of hoping needs more than a few days. Basking in the epiphany that nothing is ever constant and nothing is ever sure – _has_ to have more time to process.

“Time can't stop for you.” Often, Kageyama chides. “You're going to be left behind.” Often, Kageyama warns.

But Kei doesn't need Time to stop for him. Kei doesn't want to beg for Time at all. Because Kei is at his own pace. Kei has his own way. And he'll be damned to submit to an age-old, uncaring entity when he could simply believe himself capable of making another. _His_ Time, Kei guarantees, is better – because it is heedful. It listens when Kei is weary. It listens when Kei is scared. And it is Kei's alone.

It waits for him too, with the assurance that it understands.

"I don't plan on hurrying."

So the invitation sits, buried in the remnants of a time long unwanted. And with it, hides an unspoken letter.

“ _I'm sorry.”_ It reads.

“ _I'm taking my time.”_ It promises _._

*

In his haste, Kageyama forgets to bid him goodbye. Kei doesn't take offence and patiently waits by the doorstep.

And in his swift return, Kageyama is met with the same, unmoving figure – the bulk of Kei's shadows waning slightly under the threshold's glower.

“How was the wedding?” Kei mumbles to him as a greeting, awfully calm. Kageyama replies with a disquieting silence, the ball of his feet trundling.

He sits, a chilling rustle behind his back, mere inches away from Kei's shrinking silhouette. Then, to compensate for the evening's quiet, he lays a token in front of Kei's sight. It twinkles, casting golden glitters over two lovers bound by the knot of a loving embrace. Kei ganders at the blinking specks of silver and faintly smiles at its beauty.

“They were asking for you.” Kageyama mutters back as comfort. He stays rooted to his place by the narrow entryway, the heat of his fingers close to Kei's flushed knuckles.

“Did you tell them I'm doing fine?”

His friend breathes out a curious sigh. With the tilt of a chin, he asks, “Are you?”

Kei takes a moment to answer. His heart pauses, unabashed, and the mesh of thorny veins begin to slowly untangle. And even as the sting in his chest itches with unabating vigour, chafed and grated at the edges, Kei feels the mass of knots lighten.

“No,” Kei whispers honestly. Without doubt, he adds, “But I will be.”

*

Little by little, Kei's own time moves forward.

Little by little, Kei paints a path for himself – one with no signs or blaring warnings to pick apart.

Little by little, Kei finds the downslopes easier to trek.

*

Sometimes, he halts. Sometimes, he winds up at the same edge of another slope and dithers.

Sometimes, he takes a step too large for his gangly limbs that he ends up sore and still. Sometimes, he takes a step too little for his impatient mind that he begins thrashing in his spot, slipping close to the slanted angles.

Kei fails sometimes. He paces his strides too quickly, or too sluggishly – and often, in those slow, agonizing ventures he finds himself inept, inert – _unchanged_. Still, Kei doesn't hurry when he staggers on another step. He takes his time.

“ _Are you ready now?”_ The voice in his head would peer, expectant. And as Kei clears the fog in his lungs and soothes the quiver in his bones – he sees Kageyama's blue, scintillating eyes gaze pinned on him.

Kei would often find himself glancing back. And every time, he answers truthfully, _“Not yet.”_

But there's a promise to be read from it – his _yets,_ as he would lovingly call them, are hopeful. As if to say _Not quite – but will be._ It places Kei in the in-between of things, something Kageyama's voice does not seem too pleased about. But this middle-ground, Kei concludes, is a different sort of commitment. That even as Kei finds himself retreating backwards, he still sees ahead and inches forward. Back and forth, back and forth – It's a progress that is human. Kei and his many flaws do not feel too pressured to follow through every bit of it. He revels, even, in the intervals his withdrawals bear. Not because it's a habit of his to be so inclined to fall, but because the repose calms him.

_One step. Pause. Next step._

The routine is not the most constructive, or the most impenetrable. Sometimes Kei gets a disturbance, an invasive feeling akin to the bittersweet aches of nostalgia. They happen sporadically and without any hint. If Kei happens to glimpse at a black mop of hair, he gets interrupted by Kuroo's familiar shadows. If Kei happens to catch a whiff of a lemon cologne, he gets plagued by Bokuto's beaming smiles. And if Kei happens to pass by a lonely avenue, coated in cold white sheets, his mind runs haywire and becomes muddled with thoughts of empty orbs and lifeless grins – much like Tooru.

When those happen, Kei's rest is a little longer. He wallows in his pillows and sleeps from dusk until dawn. He rambles mindlessly behind a cup of bitter coffee and drowns himself in piled parchments and undone work. He bathes in the absence of his progress and _still_ finds himself breathing lighter each time.

“Are you ready now?” Kageyama asks him to reproach – snicking and ticking like an alarm clock ready to set off.

“Not yet.” Kei would retort – prancing and dawdling like a timer on repeat.

Sometimes Kei fails. Sometimes Kageyama's reprimands fall on deaf ears. Sometimes Kei ignores them for the sweet taste of an overdue. _Not yet_ , his drowsy murmurs would say.

“Well, you have to be.”

\- sometimes, Kageyama is more persistent. And he makes it so that Kei hearkens to his reminders. He urges Kei to dare another step even when his knees groan. He pushes Kei to be more upfront even when Kei prefers otherwise.

“Why?” And Kei would question his intentions every time. _Why are you doing this? Why are you always there? Why do you care?_

Kageyama answers him with something else, not one to pick up on vague cues when they matter.

“You're going to have to face _them_ anyway, why stall some of it?”

And Kei becomes increasingly frustrated by his straightforward nature that he lets himself fall into a web of tangents. He becomes too peeved that Kageyama still doesn't seem to get it and fails to raise the questions again – too provoked to be anything but frank. In its own bizarre way, it feels a little special. A shared secret only Kei and Kageyama know. They would often ignore the subtleties of things– Kei would find himself simplifying something for Kageyama. Kageyama would find himself overthinking for Kei. They would do something innately true to the other's characters – almost like an exchange.

That, Kei considers, to be something close to impermanence. Something constant in their eight years of friendship.

Truth be told, Kei's obstinacy is as boundless as Kageyama's. They're hard-headed for different reasons and it makes their rivalling beliefs all the more remarkable. Some days, Kei wins and Kageyama caves. Other days, though Kei recounts with a bit of petulance, Kageyama remains the victor and Kei eventually concedes.

On those days, Kei entertains the man's persistence.

Kageyama applauded him for it with a proud pull of the lips. “About time you answered his calls.”

“Can't be helped.” Kei retorted with a dismal glare.

Tadashi was an existence too conspicuous to dismiss. He'd made as much of a place in Kei's vacant spaces as Kei had made in his. But see, Tadashi was a mark in Kei's memory too old to keep. He'd made as much of a place elsewhere beyond Kei's life as Kei has made with his.

Tadashi wasn't discarded. Kei had simply woken up one day and forgotten to call back. One blue day, Tadashi must have woken up too, and forgone with not sending another message.

“ _It can't be helped.”_ It's Tadashi's voice who repeats it to him. Kei hears it resound louder in his mind.

Really, it can't be helped – that even as Kei drags his feet with admirable composure, that even as he holds his chin high and eyes kind as if willing, as if he had not declined countless reunions and well-meaning greetings – it can't be helped that Tadashi is still painfully, _oh so painfully_ , understanding about it – about the spaces Kei has filled and replaced him with.

“Time likes to tease us wandering lots.” Tadashi waves off his unvoiced worries the very second Kei sits down before him, sheepish and abashed. And Kei almost bawls at the irony of it all – almost weeps at the sight of Tadashi's wide-eyed smiles, no longer youthful but still, the same, pure _Tadashi_ Kei fondly gazed at some blue skies ago.

“I'm sorry I took too long with mine.” Kei responds, fists clenched and eyes downcast. The embarrassment latches tighter and tighter to his seething stomach, berating him with a scalding realization that he'd missed this. He missed Tadashi so, _so_ much.

“So Tsukki, how's life been for you?”

And _oh_ , how he hates this. How he abhors time for being so unforgiving. Because Kei never dreamed of Tadashi asking him that – never thought that he would have to speak about them _now_ and not _then_.

But Kei lies anyway, just to ease the grief with the stir of straw against golden-rimmed mugs. “Fine and dandy.”

His delivery must have been too dull for the warm colours of Miyagi as even Tadashi looks at him in worry.

“Is it really?” Tadashi probes. Gentler than Kageyama's unsparing frankness. Tadashi asks him in a softer tone. Even when he wishes to imply his disbelief over Kei's words, he stays genuine.

And when Kei looks at him again, less hesitant, he feels the earnestness double by a hundredfold. And when Kei looks at him again, more trusting, he sees Tadashi's knowing eyes and finds himself opening up without protest. _Just like old times_. He comes to Tadashi with pieces tied, and it only takes a few minutes of stalled pauses before Tadashi _unravels_ Kei and his many, many tangles. _Just like old times._

“I can't lie to you at all, can I?”

Tadashi's grin grows impossibly wider, impossibly warmer. “Oh Tsukki, we both know you're just too honest for your own good.”

 _Yet another irony_ , Kei thinks. He hasn't been honest to anyone – to himself, for the most part. Perhaps Tadashi means something else. Something cryptic. Something Tadashi himself has seen of Kei. Something Kei is still learning about himself.

He doesn't focus on it for fear of going off on another tangent. Instead, he opts to ask about the things that truly matter. The things he's missed. And he starts, a bit too shyly, “How have you been?”

Tadashi tells him everything. He recalls as much as he can – memories made with not a _Kei_ to mention or rant about in any of them. But Kei doesn't feel any offence at the absence – has felt the bitterness sink, slump and wither under crinkled smiles and perfectly timed snickers. Slowly, Kei forgets the remorse and basks in the sweet, blissful novelties in Tadashi's life – the changes he'd never heard of, the changes he'd almost been to and the changes that Kei swears to be in next time.

Tadashi tells him all he needs to catch up on. Kei tells just as much about himself. And Tadashi listens to him without fail.

It's when Kei feels a prickle of honesty drip behind his pursed lips that he chooses, just as eager as Tadashi's nods, to tell him about the others too. About the names he kept count and the names, though muddled, he kept at bay.

It's when Tadashi leans a little closer and lets slip a hitch of surprise that Kei chooses, though not as overzealous, to tell him about the downslopes too. About the warnings he'd ignored and the warnings he'd been unable to.

“I wish it was you instead,” Kei adds in between his stories, not too cautious of the warnings this certain slope may give him. “I wish I just ended up with you.”

For a moment he expects Tadashi to squawk at him indignantly – to chastise him for such a wish. For a moment, Kei thinks he’s screwed things up and uttered something neither of them can recant.

But Tadashi startles him with a soft chuckle instead. It comes off fond, like a listless sigh to welcome lazy mornings.

“But you're glad you didn't, right?” He replies. And Kei takes a long while to admit to himself the same thing.

“Maybe.” He mumbles. The answer resonates around them and pulls Tadashi to the backrest of his chair. Slack and calm under the teasing gleam of coming dusk.

“I used to like you, you know?”

The words are let out in a near-whisper. It's filled with a hint of insecurity – as if the admission had been a shameful thing to say. Kei looks at Tadashi in great shock, fraught with fervour and ardency, so far from the ambiguity of Tadashi's expression. He leans closer, the tips of his ears tense from the passing winds, intent to read as much of the man's face as he can.

Tadashi scratches the creases of his face. He breathes out the stress in his bones and continues, suddenly no longer unsure, “I was always looking for a chance, a sign, for anything - but then things happened. They didn't get in the way...I guess they were just meant to happen.”

Kei gulps and gawks at the possibilities. And as much as he wishes to drown the thoughts away, they still hang on to him with a deadly grasp. In the inmost recesses of his mind, a fantasy sits: Kei and Tadashi, perhaps in a spacious apartment, or a modest two-story house, with a dog, a cat, maybe two children and a ring around their interlaced fingers – perhaps, in an aeroplane, travelling somewhere around the world and crossing out lists after lists of romantic things, kissing each other under the Eiffel tower, before the snowy mountain ranges or behind the bustling crowd of Italy –

“Who knows?” Tadashi voices for him. His shoulders shrug and the glint of a golden band blinks sharply at Kei. “Maybe in some other world, we could have been what we failed to be today.”

– perhaps, in one of those infinite possibilities, there is Tadashi for a fortunate Kei. And maybe a Kuroo, a Bokuto, or a Tooru.

Kei mulls over the possibilities with a slight sting in his limbs. He ponders, indulges even, on what could have been. If he had just insisted more, had just gripped tighter or spoke louder about it. If he had just asked again and any of them had said _yes_ – But, Kei thinks again, a little wiser, and sees that any of the possibilities could have worked and ended up the same way anyway. Any of them could have loved him a little longer, a little better and in turn, Kei could have given it back a thousandfold and more – but the possibilities are endless, and most could still be sad and miserable in their own endings.

Because perhaps, in all of the possibilities that exist, some firsts will always be _what-ifs._ Some firsts are meant for something else, for someone else. And some are simply meant to end.

Tadashi didn't seem to think too deeply about it. He'd looked every bit contented with the consequences of his untold confessions – as if to announce he wouldn't have it any other way. As if to boast there's not a bone in his body that seemed anywhere regretful.

“It doesn't matter,” Tadashi says it as if to tell him it's okay. “Because in every world there is, I'm sure there's a Kei that is still for Kei.”

 _That's what truly matters_ , he leaves unsaid. Kei is mindful enough to hear them loud and clear.

*

“How was it?” This time, it's Kageyama who greets him by the dingy doorstep.

Kei saunters forward, legs worn for the day. He doesn't greet the man with a smile but his eyes shine a little brighter as he replies, “More than fine.”

Kei is _spent_. His palms sweat a little. His knees protest when he kneels. And his nape creaks as he leans on Kageyama's shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

Kei tarries. He huffs languidly and breathes too heavily. “Just a little tired.” He mumbles. Then, with a sleepy hum no lighter than the weight of relief in his shoulders, he repeats, “Just a little tired.”

_One step. Pause. Next step._

*

Kei has had many promises made to him. Some ordinary, some absurd, some lavish, others improbable.

Kei has had many promises made to him, and most have stayed as-is.

“ _Someone else might do it for you.”_ He once heard Kuroo say, the words drawled as his chin tips over the edge of Kei's sulking shoulder, _“It might not be me at all.”_

His reasons had been met with a grumble, the pettiness slipping out of Kei's scowling lips. _“So you want us to end?”_

“ _No.”_ Kuroo returned calmly. His grasp then had been loose, the tips of his fingers an inch away from Kei's queasy stomach. _“I'd love to be the only one.”_

“ _But you might not be the only one?”_ Kei continued for him. His hold just as unquiet.

“ _Even if I wanted to, who's to say it's gonna be me forever?”_

When Kei mulls over his words again, a distasteful numbness bubbles in his throat. He recounts all of Kuroo's words and feels the splinters dig deeper into his skin, the sharp daggers pouncing ruthlessly on his weak, _fragile_ heart.

“ _Whatever comes, comes.”_ Kuroo's gravelly words carols back at Kei. It echoes with a rhapsodic melody – a simple lull for the uncomfortable. That had always been the thing with Kuroo. A man of honesty. He promises and gives. And when he's unable to, he tells him within an instant.

“ _Stalling hurts people, Kei.”_ He'd reasoned out. _“If you keep leading them on with a promise you're not sure you can fulfil, you're going to break a lot more than you intended.”_

Figures. Kuroo had never been one to idle. He sprinted head-on and rested only when needed. _Freehearted_ , as Kei once called him. He was always in a hurry to resolve something. When he fails at it, he finds peace from moving on. Never to look back at them or spare a second glance.

Kuroo was just like that. He never lies about important things.

Once, when Kei had stopped by a jewellery shop, gaudy and well-kept, he'd pointed openly at a sparkling diamond ring. _“And this promise?”_ He dared, bold and brazen, humbled only by the flush of red behind his perked ears.

“ _That one,”_ Kuroo had stared back at him and proudly claimed, _“I won't stall.”_

Kuroo never lied about important things. Had barely lied about the trivial ones. But he'd lied then. Perhaps even to himself.

When Kei passes by a street of window panes brimming with twinkling rings and dangling gold, he bites on his lips and holds his fingers. He counts them and leaves one out. The lonely finger curls in its heartsick misery and stays blue even as Kei pockets his hands. And they resile, doleful, never to feel the embrace of a brash promise.

“ _Whatever comes, comes.”_ Kuroo once said. _“Whatever stays, stays.”_

*

When he meets Kuroo again, the words reverberate with a heartsore recognition. And like a bellow, they stab him with a grating welcome.

In the dim, where a lone patio hangs, Kuroo appears to him as an unabashed reminder of what he had left him with. He stands, comely and charming in his slim-fitted suit and sleek pointed shoes, and intrudes an empty space behind Kei's shoulders.

“I never thought I'd see you again, _Kei_.”

The name rolls in his tongue like a chanted curse. And as the devils do, pervasive and demanding, they light a fire and set Kei aflame. Kuroo _burns_ him without permission, unashamed. It spreads just enough that Kei hears himself counting again. Two steps forward, two steps back – two snickering fools dancing clumsily under gloomy skylines, two reckless kids gazing stupidly at dimming horizons, two _stupid_ , hopeless dreamers exchanging kisses below the shed, where the rainy nights prowl – _two, two, two_ –

“I never thought I'd see you too, _Kuroo-san_.”

The name grinds his lips with a biting halt. And as the devils do, furious and displeased, they put down the flames and blanket Kuroo with a sea of resentment. Kei _drowns_ him without mercy, uncaring. It lasts long enough that Kuroo finds himself recoiling again. Two steps backwards, two steps forward – one bitter soul and one guilty devil.

“Daichi said you didn't answer his invitation.” He proceeds with a wince, the drink in his hand long abandoned by the balcony's wooden bannisters.

“I sent it to Sugawara-san.” Kei clarifies flatly. He downs the last of his bland liquor and peers at the huddled crowd behind Kuroo's shoulders. “Can I help you?” He poses, not one to bother with the pleasantries. Kei is not obliged. For an acquaintance, Kei would be. For a _stranger_ , not so much.

“Nothing.” Kuroo tells him. His words hurry, chasing a pause that had lingered far too long for his liking. “Just... it's nice seeing you again.”

And Kei so badly wants to scream at him. Kei wants to drag him by his collar and push him towards the blazing fire – where Daichi and Koushu dance in the flames with a ring in each of their warm fingers, now bound by the same name. Kei wants to _burn_ him with what he had never gotten for himself. From Kuroo. From anyone – just to spite and say, _“See that? That's what you promised me.”_

The urge to do it all at once is utterly tempting. Kei's inhibitions beg to be stripped bare for the whole crowd to gasp and gawk. At Kei. At his brash boldness. As he spills out in a frenzy, not a shred of composure left in his veins.

“Why are you here?” - but, he teeters. The fumes in his gritted teeth dwindle to a sharp halt. Kei stares at Kuroo like he's 15 again, and all at once, remembers how often he would get lost in Kuroo's gazes, how often he would bask and drown in them – how often he would pine and wilt under them. Suddenly, the question holds a heavier weight in his lungs.

_Why did you have to be here?_

“Almost everyone's here.” Kuroo remarks. And when he heaves his shoulders up and pockets his hands, Kei sees the smallest trace of a younger Kuroo in front of him. Coy and chary in a red jersey that billows. “I couldn't pass such a big reunion.”

“So you just got back?” Kei pretends not to care too much. He feigns indifference even when his heart flutters restively.

Kuroo acts nonchalant too, a bit more at ease than Kei's quaking lips. “Just visiting actually.”

The tension drops. And Kei thinks he can finally move past the dense air and be done with it. But the scratchy music from the busy hall glues him back to his spot. A strong pull embeds itself beneath Kei's heels. So he remains, nonplussed by his unwillingness to leave.

His unlikely companion does the same. With soles rooted to the ground, Kuroo continues meekly, “How have you been, Kei?”

The words strike him in the face. Kei deliberately falters with his response just to feel the name sink and seep through his fidgeting fingers. His body leans slack against the marbled baluster, the same empty glass in his freezing hands.

“Why?” He returns instead. He doesn't owe Kuroo a long-winded prose about himself – about what he'd done and become after Kuroo. But Kuroo owes him something. Kuroo owes him a promise.

Instantly, Kuroo reads his implications. And he makes it clear that the query had been accounted for. Perhaps, he'd prepared for an answer long before he decided to leave Kei without one.

"I was trying to figure my shit out.” He begins. And it sounded too simple. As if Kei had wept a year for something as trivial as mulling over the next pair of socks to wear for the next morning – “I felt like I was going nowhere and I didn't wanna drag you with me. I thought stalling the promise would've hurt you more."

Kuroo made it look _so_ easy. Kei feels like he's complicated something he shouldn't have. Suddenly, he forgets all the progress he's made and mourns over the possibilities - the house, two pets, two kids - 

“We could have figured it out together." And _oh_ , does it hurt to think of what they were now and what they could have been.

Kuroo stares at him as if he feeels the same. He looks at Kei like he's 18 again and still unsure – "I was young. I was stupid." He stalls. The peaceful lull in his voice long forsaken. "And I guess I was scared."

Kuroo looks at Kei like he's 18 again, young and insecure. And it hits Kei, that Kuroo was just as much of a teenager as he was. Kuroo was a kid too, who had his own _firsts_ to count and _firsts_ to let go of. He was no hero – no knight in shining armour or dashing prince. Kuroo was just Kuroo. Earnest, honest Kuroo.

Still, Kei can't help but clench his fist in frustration. The chant of _what could have, we could have_ ringing all at once. Still, Kei feels betrayed.

"I was too.” His voice shivers. His lungs stammer. “Stupidly, _hopelessly_ in love with you." _And I was ready to face it with you._

Kuroo answers him with a blink. One, two, four times, he lets his chest exhale with bated breaths. He shows Kei a dismal look – a look Kei had thought of as a rarity for the man. When he shifts in his place, the look lingers. When he takes out a hand and puts them on his neck, the look wavers. And when Kei sees the glint of yellow on one of his fingers, the look tenses.

Kei doesn't hesitate. He scoffs and huffs and lets his own breath stutter in breathless gasps. Kuroo stays still under his scrutiny. The edges of his lips straighten and the flex of his arms tighten, but he remains unflinching.

Kuroo appears to him with a ring on his finger. Unapologetic.

“ _Whatever comes, comes.”_ Kuroo had once said. _“Whatever stays, stays.”_

When Kei thinks over the words, he feels lighter. And when the words replay, Kei finds himself understanding things a little bit more. But now, as he hears them resonate again, Kei only hopes - sincerely hopes, that he can move past another step.

“Congratulations.” So he says, at loss for anything else to say.

Kuroo nods quietly. He doesn't meet Kei's eyes as he replies, “Thanks.”

“Do...Do you promise to them?”

“I do.”

“And do you keep it?” Kei dares. He shouldn't have.

“I do.” Kuroo tells him honestly.

“Then...” _Why couldn't you do that for me too?_ "That's good."

“Yeah." Kuroo whispers to him. He waits as Kei takes two strides. Then with a soft, wispy call, he tugs on Kei's heartstrings once again. "Hey Kei?"

Kei lets himself be pulled one last time. He faces Kuroo, laden with exhaustion. “Yeah?”

"Nothing.” Kuroo smiles, shy. His hands are no longer covered and Kei gets to peer at his large, calloused palms, where the golden band mocks him without rest. “Just...take care of yourself, _moonshine_."

The moon glowers at them, proud and unyielding. And though daunted, Kei manages to be the same.

“I will.” He says. “Take care of yourself too, Kuroo- _san_.” He adds.

“ _Whatever comes, comes. Whatever stays, stays.”_

*

“ _So if things end, that'll be it?”_

“ _If things end, they'll end. And another starts.”_

“ _And then you won't be with me.”_

“ _And then, someone else will be with you.”_

*

**Kei is for Tobio and Tobio is for Kei**

Kei has only called Kageyama a handful of times. Once, he called him out of boredom and Kageyama begrudgingly obliged to keep him company. Once, he called him out of fear and Kageyama, though still annoyed, immediately came to his aid.

Kageyama comes and stays. He only leaves when Kei asks him to.

Hinata confronted both of them about it. His tone was a little jealous and his eyebrows arched with uncontained suspicion.

“Do you like him or something?” He asked.

Kei and Kageyama choked on their hot coffee then, the remnants of sleep whisked away by Hinata's fuming accusations.

“As if.” They chorused, livid and affronted.

They were roommates, friends maybe, but nothing more. They tolerate each other and help each other and, by the extension, _have_ to be there for each other. It was the rule for roommates to do that. If you live with someone and know too much about them (even the things you'd rather not know about), you're bound to nurture a bond.

“It's a force.” Kageyama puts it simply. It pulls and beckons when the other needs help. It drags and forces when the other wants to be listened to. Direct and frank – much like Kageyama. Though sometimes a little complex and hesitant – much like Kei.

“But you always stick around.” Hinata protests often. Kei and Kageyama simply remained unresponsive, much too bothered by other things than caving into Hinata's valid points. It's easier to do so – to shrug it off and appease the awkwardness with ignorance.

Though sometimes, Kei contemplates about it too. He wonders if there might be a more profound reason for Kageyama's actions. There could be about a million of them. Or just one. But Kei thinks he'd still be unable to fully comprehend it. Because as simple as Kageyama's thoughts may be, they still hold a mystery to them that Kei isn't able to grasp.

So really, “Why _do_ you stick around?”

And always, the response he gets is curt and simple, “Well someone else has to, right?”

It's sweet. Obnoxiously straightforward. But sweet.

Yet Kei still doesn't feel satisfied. So he would probe again. More forceful. And each time, Kageyama's replies stay effortlessly simple.

“It's easy.” He would grumble. “You stick around for my problems, I stick around for yours.”

But see, Kageyama hasn't really called him as much as Kei has. Kageyama hasn't really told him much either. And Kei feels wholly indebted to give back more than Kageyama's time and company. _It's the rule_ , he insists. The force urges him to. It's not as if they do things out of the goodness of their hearts – it's just that they're expected to take things from each other and give back what they can.

So he offers, one night, a tad bit exasperated by the man's reluctance. And Kageyama, though often unwilling to accept any offers, finally concedes.

“I'm going to propose to Shouyo tonight.” He'd dropped out of the blue. Brief and concise. Not a poem to cite in between or speeches to ramble. Just Kageyama and his valiant frankness.

Kei had taken a moment to register him fully. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, he heard a voice whine petulantly about the sudden influx of new marriages.

But all that Kei manages to tell him is, “That's...big news.” And he frets a little, unconvinced if he could ever make any great contributions. Should he help with the decorations? Should he plan a surprise for them? A flash mob? Some fireworks display? Or should he leave and give them an intimate moment? Should he –

“I've got it all planned. I just need you to cheer me on.”

“Oh.” Kei mumbles. “Are you having doubts?”

Kageyama snorts. “No.” He says quickly. The coins in his pocket jingle as he takes out a velvet box. “I'm sure about him.”

“But you're not sure if he is?” Kei supplies. When he's met with silence, he begins to snicker. Longer and longer until his hoarse chuckles morph into a full-blown cackle. “You fucking idiot.”

His words hold a lesser insult. They meander into the air, an endearing lullaby to smoothen the creases in Kageyama's sour face. He halts. His eyes crinkle and his teasing grins turn into a thin, earnest smile.

“He loves you.” He starts. “I've been there for every stupid musing he's said out loud. I've heard him mumble _your_ name in his sleep. So I truly, wholeheartedly _know_ that he loves you.”

“But will he say yes?” Kageyama asks anyway. Timid and subdued. Kei gives him a feeble slap to the back of his head and smugly huffs at his muttered gripes.

“He's dumb. But he's not dumb enough to not say yes.”

With that, the uncertainty fades just as quickly as it had resurfaced. But Kei still feels a little displeased about the simplicity of it all. Perhaps, he could never fully give back what he'd taken from Kageyama. But, he supposes it's alright. Kageyama himself had been very much contented with whatever he received from Hinata. Like a simpleton, all that matters to him is what he gives. And all that he desires, Hinata already gives.

It's simple _. Kageyama is for Hinata. Hinata is for Kageyama._

“What about you?”

Kei? Kei has no place to intrude. And he'd be damned to ever think about disturbing them.

“No proposals for sure.” He assures. A bit too cheerful. He plays with his fingers, caressing each knuckle.

Kageyama scolds him with a flat stare and retorts, “It doesn't have to be.” And, as he pockets back the box in his hands, he gives Kei a faint nudge and pulls him out of his absent musing.

“Really, what are _you_ going to do?”

The thing with Kageyama, as an odd roommate and an even odder friend, is that he always asks. Even when he doesn't understand Kei. Even when he is frustrated with Kei. Even when he taunts and mocks Kei. He never offers him fancy speeches or motivational ramblings – he offers his care in the form of questions. Did he eat? Did he have a bad dream? Did he finally stop crying over some random guy?

He asks Kei with the intent to listen. He doesn't ask to fix Kei or solve Kei's problems for him. He asks to offer _company_.

Kageyama is always truthful about his questions. And in turn, Kei is truthful to him too.

“I don't know.” Kei replies. “I'm not really sure about my plans. I'm not sure about anything _yet_.”

“But you will be,” Kageyama repeats for him. He doesn't ask it this time. He says it as a demand to Kei. “Maybe you should start doing something for yourself.”

“And you're not gonna hurry me?” Kei teases.

“Important things take time,” Kageyama tells him. “Don't hurry yours.”

Kei smiles. And for the second time around, it's sincere.

“I won't. I promise."

Rarely does he promise to anyone. But for Kageyama, he does. Because Kageyama, though strange and eccentric, has as much of a part in Kei's life as Kuroo-san, as Bokuto-san – as Tooru. And though never said, Kageyama Tobio was once for Kei too.

“Don't promise to _me_. Promise to yourself.”

But this time, Kei is for something else. For someone else.

This time, Kei is for Kei.

*

Little by little, Kei's own time moves forward.

Little by little, Kei paints a path for himself – one with no signs or blaring warnings to pick apart.

Little by little, Kei finds the downslopes easier to trek.

*

**Kei is for Kei**

Kei buys a camper van a week after Shouyo officially moves in with Tobio. He paints it golden a week after moving out of the apartment and offering his room as the couple's walk-in closet. And for the last week, he finally fills it with the rest of his furniture.

“You know, when I said to promise to yourself I didn't mean _this_.”

Tobio takes a long gander at his new home. The interior walls are shaded with plain white and the brims of his windows shine with a silver glint. A soft, fluffy carpet covers his sturdy flooring, lit by the two strings of fairy lights that dangle close to the roof of his van.

“I'm going on a trip.” He explains.

Shouyo is understandably baffled. “A long one?”

“On your own?” Tobio just as perplexed.

“You sure you're going to be fine?” Even Tadashi, who had squawked and yelped at his sudden call, stares at him in disbelief.

“I have myself.” He answers to all of them. His voice loudens proudly as he adds, “I think I'm going to be _just_ fine.”

“Where are you going?”

Kei doesn't really know exactly. But one thing is for certain – this _first_ , as Kei will forever call as his and only his, is _the_ first that will last for a lifetime.

So, with a merry heart, he tells them, “I have the rest of the time to figure it out.”

And he has the rest of the time to celebrate _it_ all.

*

zero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! To whoever stumbled upon this story and gave it their time, I sincerely thank you <3
> 
> I never really intended to make this fic multi-chaptered as my initial plan was to make it a 5+1 thing but I'm still satisfied with how things turned out. I know that this story still has its shortcomings, and I very much apologise for any grammatical errors. Nevertheless, I hope you were able to enjoy this long-winded endeavour of mine. 
> 
> With that, I wish to end this story with the promise that things will be better. For all those who have had too many downslopes to count, or those who are stuck in one right now, I hope you may be able to take your time and get past it. 
> 
> And, with my whole heart, I wish you the best of luck in all of your firsts.


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